


Strong

by OpheliaLMX



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Non-graphic mentions of 16 year-olds having sex, Or Trent Ikithon as a monster, Other canon Caleb-related warnings, Psychological Torture, Pure uncut non-magical indoctrination of teenagers, Realistic and dark as hell, TW: physical and emotional abuse, TW: substantial gaslighting, Why Caleb cannot see himself as a victim, tw: radicalisation, tw: religious-based abuse, tw: torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-11-12 22:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18019562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaLMX/pseuds/OpheliaLMX
Summary: Lessons learned by Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid, under the dedicated tutelage of Trent Ikithon.Trent does groundbreaking work, and together these three students, with Bren at the helm, will have the strength to protect the mighty Dwendalian Empire.Alternatively, this is the story of three teenagers being psychologically molded into executioners by a person they have been taught to trust.(If I had any way to spell the laugh Caleb/Liam gave in episode 18 in response to the line 'I don't think it's anything to be ashamed of',  that would have been the title of this fic.)





	1. Trent's Favourite

**Author's Note:**

> Note: (May 27, 2019)  
> I read this story back and kind of freaked myself out, which is probably a good thing because it's about Caleb's backstory. ^^ It's still very much continuing, but I wanted to leave this FYI at the beginning.
> 
> The original concept of this fic was/is to be canon perfect, up until more information on this time period comes to light.  
> The only canon divergences thus far are still pretty cosmetic, and they are that:
> 
> [MINOR SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 64]
> 
> \- Astrid is not a tiefling in canon. Not a huge shock, I know. xD I'm not changing that aspect of this story though.  
> \- Also, in quite an early Talks Machina episode, Liam says that Caleb/Bren did not know Astrid or Eodwulf prior to the Soltryce Academy. In this story, Bren and Eodwulf were best friends since childhood and I am not changing that either.

Every reasonably informed citizen of the Dwendalian Empire, from gutter-dwelling filth to King Dwendal himself, knows that the Empire depends upon its powerful mages. These wizards, surprisingly small in number, somehow keep the looming wastes at bay. They somehow fortify the Empire against the physical and magical might of those foreign forces that seek to rob Empire citizens of their security, their tranquillity, their order and peace. With their methods kept quiet and their power unquestioned, everyone knows these mages simply as the Cerberus Assembly. Most members are based in Rexxentrum, but the reach and influence of the Assembly is all encompassing.

Most know that magical aptitude is nurtured and students impeccably trained at Rexxentrum’s Soltryce Academy, the centre of magical learning within the Empire.

Many in Rexxentrum know that there are members of the Cerberus Assembly who count themselves among the instructors at Soltryce Academy. Thanks to their tutelage, students at the Academy can reach great heights – often even greater than their own aspirations. One of these instructors is Trent Ikithon.

Some know that Trent is one of, if not the most powerful wizard in the Empire.

Few know that Trent picks proteges from among the students. Skilled arcanists who will become weapons for the Empire more effective than any mere device or army. Once chosen, they do not train with the other students of the Academy. Trent takes them elsewhere, makes them extraordinary.

Only Trent and his current hand-picked proteges know that it goes beyond training. He engages in experimental manipulations of magic. This is the forefront of magical understanding in the Empire. This is how the Dwendalian Empire will counter the threats of the future. Breaking these barriers and unlocking new magical potential is how the Empire will achieve victory in war time and prosperity in peace.

Only Bren, Astrid, and Eodwulf, know how lucky they are to be those proteges, to be a part of Trent Ikithon’s ground-breaking work. The masses cannot – will not – ever comprehend the great work that is being done every day in their name, and in the name of the Empire. Soon, they will graduate, and the Dwendalian Empire will be stronger for it.  
  
Trent favours competence, intelligence, ingenuity, and confidence. Among the three chosen students, his proteges, Trent has one favourite.

 

Bren was chosen after almost a dozen visits to Ikithon’s office during his first year at the Academy, and hundreds of searching questions. Trent asked about his background, his home, his first word, his first book, his first spell. His parents, his relatives, his aspirations, his strengths and his weaknesses, his favourite classes, his least favourite – it was a lot of information over a lot of hours of conversation. After the first few interviews, Trent allowed Bren to remain a little longer, to watch as his teacher’s concentrated scrutiny of him began to ease.

“We may be nothing without the Empire, but the Empire is lucky to have us too,” Trent would sometimes say, or some iteration of the same. “By the time you complete your education, you will not believe the modesty of your beginnings. If I am correct about you, you will do great things.”

Once, he gave Bren a conspiratorial wink and gifted him a scroll for a spell Bren desperately wanted to learn, but which was outside of the curriculum.

 

Eodwulf and Astrid were interviewed too. Twice. And one of those times, it was a group conversation Trent conducted with all three of them.  
Bren is and has always been is the favourite.

 

He, Astrid, and Eodwulf, were never the less chosen by Trent at the same time. They all arrived at his isolated house in the country together, received the same introduction, the same explanation and the same treatment. Only in private would Trent make it explicitly clear to Bren that, from him, he expected nothing short of exceptional. That day they had been studying from books. As usual, it had taken Bren less time to learn more information, and he had spent the remainder of the day assisting Eodwulf.

Eodwulf is quite nimble and strong, taller than Bren and somehow even fairer save for his jet black hair. His speciality is in Transmutation, so his materials have always been different to Bren’s study of Evocation. They need at least an understanding of other schools of magic though, so it’s not a waste of time to assist. Eodwulf’s problem has always been one of confidence and focus, and it predates their time at the Academy. Even as kids, Eodwulf would follow Bren around like a younger sibling, especially when he didn’t want to go home because his parents were fighting. Unfortunately, these weaknesses lead to hesitation, and Eodwulf always has the hardest time memorising.

In the evening, as with many, Trent took Bren aside to talk. They stood by the deep fish pond that dominated one side of the garden outside Trent’s home.

“Your friends will be powerful mages,” said Trent seriously, sprinkling a little grain into the pond. They both watched as dark-grey fish mouths broke the surface to snatch up the food, sending ripples over the dark water. “With hard work, Eodwulf and Astrid will be assets to the Empire rivaled by only the most experienced of warriors.”

“I have no doubt,” said Bren. “But does that not also describe my future…?”

Trent laughed.  
“No, no, Bren. You are a leader. With hard work, your skill shall be rivalled only by my own. To achieve any less would be short-changing yourself, the Empire, and of course me.”

“My goal is to one day surpass you, Trent,” Bren told him.

Trent patted him on the shoulder.  
“As it should be.”

 

Astrid is a slight tiefling with skin a blue-green eggshell colour and tiny horns that stand out, white against her pitch-black hair. Her specialty is Illusion, and her tactical mind is sharp. She can act quickly, but she is rigid and by the book. She lacks charm and creativity, though Bren has always appreciated what charm she does possess.  
  
Bren is sure that Trent has been clever in cultivating a sense of competition between the two of them, to drive them to greater heights. It can’t have happened all on its own. Astrid is more competent but less extraordinary, and for this reason Eodwulf is winning.

When the three are not working as a unit, Bren is expected to outperform both of them. Much of the time, he does. He learned early on that Trent is displeased to see Eodwulf or Astrid fall short, but only Bren can truly disappoint him. Disappointing Trent feels like disappointing the Empire itself.

When they do work together as a unit, Bren takes the lead. Neither Eodwulf nor Astrid have tried to fight this. To ignore or deny that Bren is and has always been a leader would be stupid, and none of them are stupid. Trent does not suffer fools. What is important is that they are effective, because at the end of the day, that is what the Empire needs and will expect of them.

Still, Bren could tell that having to follow him was a frustration to Astrid at first, in a way that it would never have concerned ever-faithful Eodwulf. Neither of the boys had spent much time with Astrid as children in Blumental. They had gravitated towards her little more other at school, even before Trent withdrew them for special tutelage, but it was only under his roof that they really bonded.

 

Bonding with the group is one of Bren’s lessons. He does, after all, need to know how his companions can be best utilised. He needs to know how to encourage them and boost morale.

They spend time together outside of lessons. Before being chosen by Trent, Bren had always tried to keep a good portion of every day free for time alone, with books or even just walking. Some time without the need to socialise, where he was simply himself and could breathe.

The evenings of extra study with his fellow students or with Trent, or socialising and bonding, meant that Bren couldn’t do that so often under Trent’s roof. Instead, alone time was replaced with Eodwulf and Bren teaching Astrid how to play cards, which she had somehow never done. It was replaced with dancing (and teaching Eodwulf to dance, because he had never learned), drinking (when Trent was feeling generous), songs, and sharing stories from their heads or from books.

Bren told them about his parents, about his family’s cat, and his grandparents. He told them about nights spent worried for his father after Leofrid had explained to his son what it actually meant to be in the military, modest though his station was. Bren told them about his mother’s meagre spellcasting, and hiding books under his bed before he’d had any capacity to learn from them. Eodwulf already knew most of this of course, but Astrid didn’t.

They all knew that none of their revelry, none of their fun, none of their families or good memories, treasured possessions or future dreams would be possible without the Empire. When that thought occurred to them, they usually went back to do that little bit of extra study to round out the day.

 

The first time Trent had them come to blows with a fiend (the kind of challenge they would never have faced back at the Academy), it was with little warning. Their teacher tried to keep them on their toes that way, this time sending them out into the nearby woodlands to source some specific spell components for themselves. Eodwulf had been scraping fungus from halfway up a tree when what looked like a malformed, devilish dog had sprung out from somewhere to the south, its teeth razor sharp and its whole body smelling faintly of burnt hair.

“Into the trees!” Astrid called.

“No Astrid, this way! Eodwulf, get down, come on,” Bren ordered, taking off immediately to the North-East and turning back only to aim a bolt of flame towards the creature’s eye area. He knew it wouldn’t hit perfectly, but the flash of light could buy precious seconds.

They both followed him faithfully, Eodwulf leaping from the tree to follow and Astrid creating an illusory second flame coming from a different direction.

They still had to destroy the beast (the thing was predictably fast), but on a very different battlefield. With illusion and quick moves, they executed Bren’s plan. They tricked the fiend into toppling down into a small but steep valley; Eodwulf eventually seared through its throat with unforgiving shots of acid while Bren and Astrid prevented it from climbing back up to them with spells and ephemera from the forest floor.

“We could have taken it from the trees, Bren,” Astrid said when the thing finally stopped moving. She pinched the bridge of her nose with frustration, her now-filthy hands leaving smudges of dirt behind on her eggshell blue-green skin.

“We could,” he agreed. “Perhaps another time we will try that. I knew my idea would work.”

Eodwulf looked between them, the only one to sustain no injury at all.  
“I will go and examine it,” he said – though he didn’t leave until Bren gave a nod. Eodwulf glanced towards Astrid with an almost imperceptible look of superiority which Bren would not have noticed but for their years-long familiarity and friendship.

“I knew mine would work too,” said Astrid, ignoring him.

Bren and Astrid were quiet for the moment, as Astrid examined a slash the fiend had left on her outer thigh, which was drizzling blood but didn’t look dangerous. Bren had been smacked into a tree when it had tried to bite him, and he gingerly touched his side to ascertain whether he was wounded beyond a bruise. Eodwulf affixed a rope around the tree closest to the fiend, and began to climb down into the small valley.

“Our tasks are becoming more dangerous,” Astrid said finally. “I will not suggest anything unless I think it is the safest option.”

“And I will disregard your opinion if I think I know better,” Bren responded unapologetically. “You know that.”  
  
Astrid just sighed.  
  
“What is this about, Astrid? You have had no problem backing my decisions in the past.”

“In the past there haven’t been real consequences if you were wrong.”

“Have I given you reason to doubt me?”

Astrid seemed slightly taken aback by the question.  
“Of course not.”

Bren looked at her searchingly. She didn’t seem insincere per se. Her arms were crossed and her expression was still one of frustration more than anything. Her long, black hair now had twigs and dirt tangled in it.  
“You are a big sister,” said Bren.

“The eldest child, yes,” Astrid agreed.

“You have one sister and three brothers, and your mother is bedridden.”

She rolled her eyes.  
“I’m not saying I’m smarter than you. I did follow you, Bren.”

“I know.” He paused. “And you know you have to trust me. You will have to continue accepting my commands in the heat of the moment, regardless of your opinion. That is not going to change. You are not in Blumental.”

Astrid waited a long moment before responding to that.  
“This might be one of my lessons,” she said finally.

“You should talk about it with Trent.” Her eyes widened with alarm. “I won’t bring it up with him if that is your preference,” Bren added quickly to reassure. “You obviously have not done anything wrong; we have just had a conversation… I just don’t know that I can be of much help. I think he would appreciate you identifying your own lessons.”

Astrid nodded.  
“I will speak with Master Ikithon,” she told him seriously. “Thank you, I’ll – I’ll tell him it was your suggestion.”

“Sure.”

It was still strange to Bren that the others would have difficulty speaking with Trent. He himself could consult their teacher about pretty much anything; they had been living under his roof for more than five months by this point after all.

“How did you know this valley would be here?” Astrid asked after another moment of quiet.

“We saw it when Trent brought us outside to duel.”

“That was three weeks ago.”

Bren gave a slight shrug. They knew he didn’t forget things.  
“I will be sure to seriously consider your thoughts and ideas,” he promised. “Time permitting.”

“Thank you,” said Astrid. She gave a rare smile – they were precious, Astrid’s smiles. Bren grinned back.

“So we are good?”

“Of course, Bren.”

 

Following orders she doesn’t understand or agree with is indeed one of Astrid’s lessons. She works hard to learn that some decisions are not hers to make.

Making those decisions is perhaps the greatest of Bren’s lessons.

He needs to know how to take risks, how to sacrifice. Bren has never been indecisive – that was not ever the issue. It was more that he’d never really struggled.

 

Seven months into their time studying with Trent, this began to change. Seven months in, they witnessed their first death.

 

They had been studying historical conflict. Trent said it was because they would soon begin learning about the practical business of defending the Dwendalian Empire. He said that they would need to have proper respect for the Empire in order to do that, and such respect could only be achieved with a certain amount of study. Eodwolf struggled badly with history, Astrid revelled in it, and Bren glided through the material with the same ease with which he conquers most other purely academic pursuits.

On a normal day as they were all studying in Trent’s library, the runes of the teleportation portal began to line up and glow frosty blue. Bren, who had been lying on his belly in the middle of the circle, thumbing through a tome about trade routes through the Menagerie Coast, barely had time to roll out of the way. He reached back to grab his sealed ink pot, pulling away just in time to feel the brush of Trent’s robes against his fingertips. Suddenly, Trent was there. In his arms he carried a squirming, kicking rabbit, and he looked shockingly, uncharacteristically, breathless.

“Good,” said Trent with a careful exhale. “You’re here.”

Before they could properly react, he threw the rabbit forcefully at the empty desk where Bren sometimes sat. Bren yelped at the violent display, and he heard Astrid gasp, jumping to her feet. They heard the unpleasant crack of tiny bones as the back of the rabbit’s neck smacked into the edge of the table, shattered.

It immediately began to reform into a woman, a half-elven woman. Bren recognised the end of a polymorph spell. The half elf’s eyes were wide, and her fine clothing seemed to be the kind of attire one might see on a merchant (long, blue pants, fine white silk shirt) except that it was filthy and ripped with what seemed to be fresh and day-old blood stains from scrapes and scratches. The pants were worn through at the knees like she had fallen more than once, and one of her arms was limp, not pointing in quite the right direction.

“Please,” she rasped franticly in Common, “I’m a courier, that’s all!”

Trent rolled his eyes as Bren picked himself up from the position where he had been lying on the ground, to crouch. The movement caught the half elf’s attention.

“Enough of us are dead, the message has been received,” she promised him. “You have to believe me!”

Bren gaped, trying to calm his mind. Looking at her a little more closely, he could see empty holsters at both of the half-elf’s hips where short swords must have previously been stored.

“Denounce your God,” Trent ordered darkly. The fact that he, too, was speaking Common to this woman made it feel even more ominous. He pulled something from his pocket, which he then threw at the half-elf’s feet. A holy symbol; Bren didn’t know which. It certainly wasn’t any of the approved deities. The half-elf’s hand twitched towards it but she stopped herself, looking from Bren to Astrid.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about! He’s crazy,” she said quickly. Astrid’s mouth hung open.

Trent reached an open hand out towards her and closed it slowly, as in his other hand he drew some arcane symbol Bren wasn’t paying enough attention to try and identify. By this point he had seen violence, and he had seen injury, but the only violence between people he had experienced was in training here (and Astrid, Eodwulf, and Bren exchanged nothing beyond sparks or splashes of water).

Trent’s quarry shrieked, her eyes rolling up into her head as her body seemed to dry out, starting at her hands and feet and moving in towards her torso before finally reaching her head, freezing and shivering and falling apart into dust. Then, she was gone.

Bren was clutching his own collar with one shaking hand, the other white knuckled and still holding onto the book about the Menagerie Coast.

With an ugly curl of his lip, Trent made a similar gesture, albeit smaller, and the holy symbol itself fell apart too. He ground his toe into the dust as if crushing a bug.

“Scum,” he said lowly, now back to the usual Zemnian. “Thug.”

Astrid found her voice first.  
“Who was she?”

“An insurgent. Not even a citizen of the empire; merely one who sought to undermine it. Her troop killed half a dozen Crownsguard in Deastock.”

Bren knew he should have deduced much of that, but he hadn’t. Now that it was spoken aloud, he gaped at the small heap of dust where the half-elf had been. Where the traitor had been. He felt dirty for having felt sympathy towards her.

“She was a half-elf,” said Eodwulf in a broken sort of tone.

“Not all of our enemies look like monsters,” Trent responded. “Clean it up. Bury it if you like. But adjust, because you will need to be stronger than this.”

He waved his hand at the three of them, all dumbfounded, all stricken. Bren got to his feet, straightening his back again. He tried to tell himself that people sometimes needed to die; he had read about it, and he knew it to be true, otherwise the Righteous Brand would not carry weapons, Trent would not know whatever horrifying spell he had just cast, and Bren would not be learning how to inflict flaming destruction.

“The Dwendalian Empire relies on me,” said Trent. “Each of those ignorant… individuals, each citizen who doesn’t know the danger they live under on any given day. They all rely on us. They will rely on you. Remain together, and Bren, meet me in my office at four-thirty.”

He strode decisively out of the room.

“Lawbearer,” Eodwulf murmured under his breath, eyes still watering. He dried them against his sleeve.

Bren ran his tongue over his teeth. This was still shock, but he knew how to behave in this situation. He knew.  
“We’re not burying it,” he said.

“Master Ikithon said we could-“

“Eodwulf, we will prove that we are sturdier than that,” Bren insisted. “We do not need to mourn traitors.”

Eodwulf nodded slowly, and Astrid sat shakily back down on her chair.  
“It was so quick,” she breathed. “So quick.”

“And now Deastock is safer,” finished Bren.

They scraped up the dust manually, with pieces of parchment, and dropped it with minimal ceremony out of the library window. Bren had Eodwulf clean the remains of the dust from the cracks in the floor with magic, including the remains of the holy symbol, whatever it had been.

Bren soon learned that, while Trent is pleased to see Astrid or Eodwulf succeed, only Bren can make him truly proud.  
  
Bren will become stronger than this. Strong enough that he is not pretending anymore. Strong enough that the Empire may rely on him one day.

 

Another of Bren’s lessons is to not fall in love with a colleague.  
It’s the kind of lesson he would like to have learned from a book. Sadly, sometimes, there is only trial and error.

 

When he was young, Bren learned to be quite excellent at conducting himself around people, but it took work. It still does. Even Eodwulf, who has been willing to live in Bren’s shadow since they were children, takes a certain amount of work. On top of that, Astrid has just never been a very approachable person. Before they were chosen, Bren found it far easier to play at flirting with more available people.

Under Trent’s instruction, and living in Trent’s house, there was no ‘easier’ or ‘more available’. Bren’s distant appreciation of Astrid was drawn to the forefront.

 

At first, it came from her need to share. Share emotions, share fears. Both Eodwulf and Astrid were stricken somewhere deep inside when Trent put down the half-elf traitor in front of them, but while Bren and Eodwulf had a lifelong close friendship in place, with all the ups and downs that kind of thing entailed, all they had shared with Astrid was study and sincere but ultimately jovial conversation.

Until Trent killed the half elf, Bren had never seen Astrid cry.

“One day,” she told Bren as they sat facing each other, cross-legged on her bed. “One day, you are going to tell me to kill a traitor, and I am going to do it.”

Bren swallowed hard. He didn’t cry. His meeting with Trent was long over, and it was almost time for bed. Trent had been proud of how Bren had managed himself and his little team through their shock and their tears, but warned him it was not over.

“I find it quite hard to imagine doing that,” Bren admitted honestly. “But,” he continued, “you know that if I did do that, it would be because I knew it was correct.”

Astrid nodded and gave a damp smile.  
“I know.”

Bren offered both of his hands, and Astrid took them, squeezing his fingers in her pale ones.

“Trent says things will keep getting more challenging,” said Bren.

“Is he disappointed in – in any of us?”

“No, he is impressed.”

Astrid squeezed his fingers again and chuckled.  
“He’s impressed with you.”

“Yes,” said Bren. “But can I tell you something – no matter how well I think I am doing with studies, or with practical applications of magic, Trent is never impressed with me if you and Eodwulf are not performing well also.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“We are in this together,” said Bren. Trent was very firm on the importance of honesty, but sometimes they both knew it was a good idea to leave some things unsaid.  
After a moment of stillness, Astrid surged forward on the bed and wrapped her arms around Bren’s neck, hugging him tightly.

Bren tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.

 

The next time Bren finished his library study early, he helped Astrid with hers. He invited her out for a walk, and they left Eodwulf to his Transmutation.

The walk did not last long. Bren pulled Astrid up against a tree, cloaking them both in shadows. She seemed delighted, in her slightly stilted way. She rested her hands against the trunk of the tree on either side of his body, and Bren wrapped his arms around her waist.

“This is going to be my first kiss,” said Astrid.

Bren smiled at her, looking over her plump but pale blue-green lips. He poked at one of her tiny horns with his nose, and her hair smelled like sweet pears.  
“Well then, Astrid, I had better make sure it is a good one.”

They stayed there, giggling and sharing gentle kisses, until they heard Eodwulf calling for them inside of the house because it was time for dinner.

 

It was romantic. They were two special, magical kids. Soon to be two special, magical, incredibly powerful adults.

For the Empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mechanical note:  
> At the beginning of this story, my intent is that Bren is an innocent shade of Lawful Neutral, Eodwulf is Lawful Good, and Astrid is Chaotic Neutral.


	2. Trent's Experiments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Soltryce Academy may train students well, but Trent's proteges are learning more, faster.  
> Trent asks a lot from them, but it's worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to be honest, it's really hard to know what warnings to connect to this story.  
> Gaslighting, manipulation, psychological abuse, brainwashing etc.
> 
> In this chapter there is a sexually suggestive situation between sixteen year-olds but it's not explicit at all.
> 
> I'm also tempted to make a reference list for everything drawn from or deliberately consistent with canon moments, that's how careful I am being. ^^ I will try to write out this whole story quickly because I feel like any given episode could spin it into official AU territory.  
> If you like this story, please do let me know. I shall write it regardless because I need to have this written, but it still makes my day when people like stuff I do. x]

One of Trent’s gifts to his students, and to the Empire, comes in the form of arcane experimentation. He works with magic beyond what is understood by the Cerberus Assembly, magic that will make his students more powerful.

At first, Trent used potions. They looked like liquid, and swirled like liquid, but felt like prickling knives to the touch, and when the vial was shaken it sounded like it contained pins and beads despite containing no such solid items.

Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid had known from early on that Trent was at the forefront of this kind of experimentation, that he would want them to help trial something new, something that would make them more powerful. After eight months of study, when he had finally decided to share this with them, it was actually very exciting. Their teacher sat down at the students’ table while they were at breakfast, as he did on some rare occasions, and told them the time had come. He allowed them to view the potion in his hand, shook it lightly so they could hear the sound, and then slid the vial across to Astrid.

“This is the next step. Drink.”

Astrid uncorked the vial and took a small sip. She struggled to swallow, wincing.  
“Is it supposed to hurt?”

“It is experimental, Astrid,” Trent told her, not unkindly but not gently either. He watched her face very closely. “There is no ‘supposed to’. Now drink the rest and tell me what it feels like.”

Bren and Eodwulf glanced at each other. Bren gave a reassuring nod.

They could share sympathies for the pain, but of course Astrid would be just fine, he reasoned.

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped onto the side of the table and upended the vial into her mouth, and Bren watched the familiar muscles of her pale throat as she swallowed it down hard. Astrid was silent for a moment, then coughed, and then shuddered like that had made it hurt all over again.

“Tell me what it feels like,” Trent repeated, patience thinning.

“Broken glass,” said Astrid unsteadily. Her voice sounded fine. Whatever the pain was, it evidently caused no injury.

Bren spotted a glimmering droplet at the corner of her mouth and reached forward-

“Bren!” Trent interjected, voice more forceful and immediate than Bren had ever heard it.  
He pulled back warily and lay his hands on the table.

Trent remained with them throughout the day, even when they were studying silently. He was watching Astrid.

 

The next day, there were identical potions for both Astrid and Eodwulf.

The day after that also.

The day after that, Trent gave them the potions but had Eodwulf refrain from eating or drinking anything else for the following 24 hours.

 

Both Astrid and Eodwulf said it hurt the same, no better and no worse, however they took the potions. They didn’t get used to it per se, but it never hurt for more than the moments needed to swallow.

Trent had them perform magic. He had Astrid learn a new spell the day of taking a potion. None of them knew what Trent was looking for – just that he was looking. Bren wasn’t given a potion until the others had been taking them for almost two weeks.

 

It was in the morning. Astrid and Eodwulf had taken their potions after breakfast as had become the norm, both now trying to seem the least affected by the pain of it, and Trent had dismissed them before handing a vial to Bren for the first time.

“Drink. Tell me how it feels,” he said.

Bren sighed, looking at the potion. He was still definitely pleased that he got to take part, though he initial excitement had been dampened over many days of these potions having no obvious effect on his classmates.

“Why did you wait so long to get to me?” he asked.

The corner of Trent’s mouth twitched.  
“I now have sufficient evidence that they are safe to drink.”

Bren frowned at him, uncorked the vial, and drank the potion all in one. He swallowed a couple of extra times, resisting the urge to cough – both of the others had confirmed that indeed made it worse.  
“It does feel like broken glass,” he said, words quick as he tried to use the act of speaking to distract from the feeling of jagged tearing in his mouth and throat. “It feels like a ball of throbbing, broken glass that stabs and pulls through the skin with each expansion, every couple of seconds and- Now, it has gone numb.” Bren swallowed again, running his tongue over his teeth. “I taste blood, but it is like it belongs to someone else.”

Trent raised his eyebrows.  
“That’s different. Interesting.”

“Astrid and Eodwulf are important too,” said Bren. “They are important to me, and they will do great things for the Empire. They are not – disposable.” Even as he says it the word feels wrong in his mouth.

“No, of course not. None of you are disposable,” Trent responded with a half-smile that looked fond. “Of course not, Bren. But it should come as no surprise that some of us are more non-disposable than others.” 

“Trent…”

“I promise you that I am exercising care,” said Trent gently. He leaned over the table, watching Bren closely for any effect from the potion, but also with a sincere look he reserved only for Bren, and only for the most serious of moments. “Sometimes danger is unavoidable. When you have the weight of the Empire on your back, sometimes you need to choose which child to save… But in this case, I was not expecting something so dramatic as death, just watching for side-effects. I know you are strong enough for this, Bren.”

“I am.”

“Good. And this will make you – all of you – even stronger. So long as you have the resolve to make it though.”

“We do,” Bren promised him.

 

Trent had him use up every bit of his magical energy that day. The exhaustion felt the same as any other day.

Trent didn’t seem disappointed though, just curious. 

 

The following months were challenging, but not in a bad way. Trent still taught at the main Soltryce Academy, even if none of his proteges had left the lands surrounding his home in the country for almost a year.

 

On one such day, Trent gathered the three of them. It was technically after hours but, increasingly, the concept of ‘after hours’ was losing its meaning anyway. Bren and Eodwulf had been memorising runes (or rather, Bren had been helping Eodwulf to memorise runes he could himself recite backwards), and Astrid had been meditating. Astrid did a lot of meditation and visualisation; creativity didn’t come easily to her, which made it very difficult for her to properly take advantage of her skill with illusions.

Trent seated himself at the large table in the library – separate from the work desks the students sometimes used. Eodwulf sat to his side and Astrid at the opposite end, while Bren perched upon one of the desks more casually.

“Your class at the Academy are sitting exams,” said Trent.

Eodwulf paled.

“Are we-“ Astrid began.

“The exams I had you sit five months ago,” Trent added with a significant look.

Bren felt the warmth of approval even if Trent didn’t actually smile.

“That means you are doing quite well,” their teacher said. “I have been communicating with the other members of the faculty, and your achievements have been noted. You are only slightly behind the schedule I had hoped to keep, but you’re catching up. I expect you to reach a couple of milestones over the next few days.”

The students exchanged subtle glances. They all knew they were close. Every night Bren would take out his spell book, trying to will himself to cast one of the new enchantments that still lingered just beyond his capabilities.

“Meanwhile, our great Empire is still experiencing turmoil. In the newer districts we have received reports of creeping unrest.”

“What can we do?” asked Eodwulf.

“Nothing official,” said Trent. “Not until you graduate. You all need to think carefully about what you will do when that day comes, because it will be sooner than you think.”

“What about unofficially, Trent?” Bren pressed. “You say we are competent; we want to help. Already any one of us could be great assets to the Righteous Brand.”

Trent gave him a cool look.  
“The Soltryce Academy is already giving us a lot of leeway,” he said. “You will train. You will not help the Empire outside of this house.” Bren opened his mouth to speak, but Trent pre-emptively cut him off, raising one finger. “We can discuss later, Bren.”

Bren closed his mouth again, instead nodding.

“I must urge all of you to consider your futures,” said Trent. “Consider heavily your commitment to the Empire, how strong you think you could become with me, and what you intend to do with that strength. I would like to continue to work with and train you beyond your schooling, but as I am sure you will have gathered by now, this is not the path for any simple minded commoner or mere purveyor of magic tricks.” Venom laced the words ‘magic tricks’.

“Of course not,” Bren mumbled, as he heard both Astrid and Eodwulf echo,

“Yes Sir.”

“I know you all took a vial this morning, but Astrid, Eodwulf, tonight you will have a second.”

Trent picked up his travelling pouch and drew out two vials, sliding one each to Astrid and Eodwulf. Neither complained; they never would. Bren wondered if the potions would make them even more advanced in comparison to their contemporaries.

Still, none of them liked drinking liquid that felt like broken glass ripping through their throats, and at least for Bren, the taste of somebody else’s blood only grew stronger with time. For one hideous moment he wondered if there was actually blood in the potions.

“Do you bleed into the potions?” Bren asked out of the blue. Eodwulf had already fully swallowed his, but Astrid was still in the process, and she spluttered. Bren winced; it looked painful.

More significantly, for the first time ever, Trent burst out laughing in front of all three of them. Bren was sitting halfway across the room and out of reach, and Trent instead clapped a hand onto Eodwulf’s shoulder with mirth.

Eodwulf’s eyes widened ever so slightly with disbelief as he awkwardly sat there, while Astrid tried to compose herself.

“Oh, calm down you all,” said Trent. “No, of course I am not feeding you blood. Bren, your imagination.”

“Master Ikithon…?” said Eodwulf nervously. 

Trent didn’t bother to answer, but squeezed Eodwulf’s shoulder once more and withdrew his hand.  
“You have a lot of work to do over the next couple of days. Bren, I will see you at half past six tomorrow, before breakfast.”

His practiced fingers traced a series of arcane symbols Bren was sure he had never seen before and took the empty vials from the table in front of Eodwulf and Astrid before leaving.

There was a very long, awkward moment.

“I have never seen Master Ikithon laugh before,” said Eodwulf.

“He is becoming more confident in us,” said Bren. He hopped off the desk and walked over to take the seat Trent had vacated. “You heard him. I keep telling you both, we do impress him. I am sure we are meeting expectations more often than not.”

“I can’t believe you asked him if he was putting his blood into the potions,” said Astrid, her expression indeed still showing disbelief. “I don’t even taste what you describe.”

“I am distracted, I guess; too much time spent on Eodwulf’s Transmutation symbols.”

That night, they all stayed up late, trying to make their breakthroughs. Astrid was laid out with one of her illusion textbooks (it honestly looked like a picture book) on Bren’s bed, while Bren copied out miniscule runes into his spellbook, which lay resting on her back. When Eodwulf, wonderful Eodwulf, finally gave up for the night, he lay down to sleep facing the wall with his pillow over his head.

 

By this point, Bren and Astrid were growing comfortable and falling hard into something Bren imagined must be love. They shared kisses, touches over crumpled clothes, and living in such close quarters it would have been impossible to keep any secrets, even if they had wanted to.

Bren had seen Astrid’s body long before he had considered pursuing her romantically. She had been a great deal shyer than the other two, being the only girl, not really of friend status with either of the boys, and the only tiefling among the group. Going all the way to the house’s bathroom every time she wanted to change clothes was completely impractical though, and none of them, even Bren, liked the idea of being caught out of uniform by Trent (not that Trent had told them any explicit expectations he had about their presentation, but the idea of talking to him dressed in pyjamas just felt weird).

Understanding this, Bren and Eodwulf had tried to stick to one side of the room to change clothes, left early, turned their backs, or generally did whatever they thought would give Astrid the most privacy. Still, the reality was that they were three people sharing a bedroom; only so much was possible.

 

More intimate was the first time that Bren undressed her. It was in the middle of the night and they were both knelt on Bren’s bed; he could barely see with the faint light of the thin, crescent moon outside, and they didn’t want to summon extra light in case it would wake Eodwulf. Astrid could of course see everything, and it felt oddly vulnerable to not know where she was looking.

His fingers were fumbling as he undid the buttons on the front of her sleeveless cotton pyjama top. Astrid was stroking his upper arms encouragingly with both of her hands, and when her tail flicked against his thigh, he jumped and had to start all over again. She made a soft sound of amusement.

“Have you not – been close with a tiefling before?” Astrid whispered.

“I think you overestimate my levels of experience,” Bren murmured back. He had flirted with a tiefling at the Academy, but Astrid definitely knew him and Bren didn’t want this moment to turn into an awkward conversation. 

Finally, he managed to unbutton her shirt. He felt a jolt though his body as his fingers brushed the warm skin at the centre of her belly.

“Astrid, is it… You should know I am not just playing,” said Bren. “I feel very deeply for you; that has not happened to me before.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He felt her hands move from his shoulders, one to his hair and the other to the back of his neck as Astrid pulled him forward to kiss him.  
“I feel deeply too,” she whispered against his lips. Bren was sure she was looking into his eyes, but he could not see hers. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Okay, good,” he breathed, feeling some kind of tension ease within his chest.

“Good,” Astrid agreed, and kissed him again.

 

Outside of their private quarters, Bren and Astrid did not hide anything, but they maintained an appropriate level of propriety. 

Trent made no comment, though when Bren brought it up with him in private, their teacher seemed to have already known, or at least suspected. He was unconcerned with the state of their relationship behind closed doors, so long as it didn’t impact their studies or how they worked together.

Eodwulf gave his absolute support, especially when it became clear that nothing else had to change and Bren wasn’t about to start blowing him off. Instead of Bren and Eodwulf trying to give Astrid privacy, Eodwulf did what he could to, to give the two of them some space together.

The thing was, they were all still here for a reason. They were on the same page. Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid, were still Trent’s gifted proteges, still a team. If anything, the joy of romance would surely serve as yet another motivation to work hard, to protect the integrity of the Empire.

 

They had been studying under Trent Ikithon for fourteen months when they encountered their second dissident. He was a dwarven man, grimy, with unsettling black eyes. This time, they knew in advance that Trent would be bringing him, what would be expected of them. 

Trent had informed Bren the night before that he would be out the following day, working on the ground in Zadash. He said he intended to teleport back in the early afternoon with a hostile traitor in tow, and that he wanted the three students to ensure that the slippery filth did not get away. The dwarf’s mind would be seized by Trent’s magic, but as Trent had always made clear, there was always a possibility a spell might fail.

Trent said he would walk the dwarf from the library to his study, learn all that the captive knew, and then he would call upon his students to end the traitor’s life. This would be an expression of their dedication to the Dwendalian Empire, and of their loyalty to Trent himself. He gave Bren a choice as to how much of this information he wanted to pass on to the others, and stipulated no method of death. So long as the job was done, it would be a success. The Empire would be that much safer.

None of them had ever seriously taken arms against another person. They had known this challenge was coming.

 

After a lot of careful thought, Bren decided to tell Eodwulf and Astrid all of the details as provided by Trent. He added one additional note, though: Bren gave them the option to not participate in the actual killing. So long as the job got done, it was fine, and Bren would ensure the job was indeed done.

 

Like last time, the three of them were in or near the library when Trent arrived. Unlike last time, they were all ready. They had learned their spells carefully, studied over them the previous night and in the morning. Bren directed Eodwulf to stand by the circle, while Bren himself was stationed at the door. Astrid said she wanted to be located in the hall just outside, and Bren agreed.

He kissed her on the cheek, and wished both of them strength.

Their preparations, theorising, and planning, was probably a worthwhile exercise, but they were not needed to help keep the dwarf from escaping. When Trent arrived, their mark was completely docile, staring blankly as if he was in a daze, and a little drool leaked from his lower lip into his thick, braided nutmeg beard.

“Vigilance,” said Trent, giving Bren a significant look. Bren nodded.

Trent took the dwarf out of the teleportation circle and past Bren to exit the library. Bren waved Eodwulf along, and they both followed, Astrid joining them in the hall. 

Trent led the traitor to his office, with steady confidence, the fingers of one hand pressed against the dwarf’s upper back. Astrid projected images of blank walls in place of any hallway or door that did not lead to Trent’s office – just in case the magic failed and the dwarf tried to find an escape. 

Trent’s magic did not fail; the dwarf remained compliant. Trent waved to his students in acknowledgement once he had reached his office, and closed the door softly. 

Bren’s pulse was thrumming in his ears as Astrid’s illusory walls faded away. They went back to the library.

 

After twenty minutes, Astrid suggested they get back to their reading.

They read for over two hours.

 

Occasionally, one of them would pontificate about who this dwarf might be, what he had done, what spell Trent might have used to control him for transport – once, Eodwulf wondered aloud what ‘Master Ikithon’ was actually doing at that moment.

Bren was reading a particularly dry passage about the metamorphic qualities of magical decay when he received a message in his head. Trent’s voice saying,

_“He’s ready for you now.”_

Bren looked to the others, suddenly humming with adrenaline.  
“Alright, we are up.”

He rose to his feet and headed to Trent’s office; Astrid and Eodwulf followed his lead.

 

The fact that the dwarf now had no beard was honestly the hardest detail to process in Bren’s head. He was wearing no shirt, his pants were on but singed and bloodied, and his body looked slightly swollen like he had been stung by a large number of bees and was slightly allergic. A smell of ozone hung in the air, along with a tangy scent of iron.

Trent’s office looked as meticulous as always, with a clean writing desk, spacious area in the middle, a bookshelf even though it was only two rooms away from the library, and a number of small, magical contraptions of which Bren could recognise approximately half. Now, in the middle of the room, there was also a table, and strapped to it with thick, brown leather bindings, a dwarf.

Trent himself was nowhere to be seen.

“Lawbearer,” murmured Eodwulf, touching his hand to his front hip pocket where Bren knew he carried a second-hand holy symbol. One or other of Eodwulf’s parents had passed on their faith to him, but Bren had never seen it actually help his friend at all.

The dwarf twitched on the table, and something purple, magical and rippling ran over his body from top to toe. He moaned out pitifully, head twitching to one side so blood could dribble from his slack jaw. 

Eodwulf looked at Bren, eyes sparkling slightly too much.

“It is your choice,” said Bren.

Eodwulf furrowed his brow and stepped gingerly closer to the table. He reached out both hands, and released a pool of acid over the dwarf’s mouth and throat. It sizzled at the skin, and sunk into the table beneath, and the dwarf seized up, unfocussed eyes flicking open. The dwarf wailed helplessly, loud and piercing and gravelly like his voice had already been badly abused. He tried to hit his own head against the table or kick out, but could barely move with the restraints as the acid ate what it could of his still-living flesh. Perhaps he was trying to speak, but it was clear his jaw was badly broken, and all he could manage was a gurgle.

Bren swore as he saw the tears in Eodwulf’s eyes, the other boy’s hands shaking badly.

Astrid dropped down to a crouch and threw up on the floor.

Bren steeled himself and stepped forward next to Eodwulf, feeling like he had ants crawling in his veins. He called forth the greatest bolt of lightning he could muster. Bren was strong enough. The Empire could rely on him; he would make it stronger and no dissident would stop him. This was why Bren was Trent’s favourite. Electricity cracked in the air.

The dwarf shuddered, but this time it was the power of the lightning shooting through him, shattering his nerves, his bones, his skin, from the inside out and leaving him a dead, lightly smoking husk.

Bren spat on the blackened corpse.


	3. Trent's Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of his first execution, Bren needs to care for his team.  
> New challenges emerge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely people who are being supportive. =]
> 
> Some new content warnings:  
> Please note the new 'torture' tag.
> 
> Also, while there is no self harm (cutting) in this story, if this is a trigger for you, please tread carefully.

Until they studied under Trent, Bren had never seen Astrid angry. The night after Bren killed the dwarf, she was angry.

So far, all of the physical contact between the two of them had been professional and respectful, or it had been tender – soft exploration and curiosity which almost served as a counterbalance to the hard work and focus they needed to exhibit during their studies. But the night after Bren killed the dwarf, the first moment they had alone, Astrid slammed him into their bedroom wall with little warning, so hard and so unexpectedly that it made his head spin. She jammed one elbow into his chest and grabbed him by the collar, glaring into his eyes. 

“You should have given us an order,” Astrid hissed. “That’s the deal.”

Bren thought about the crack of lightning, the snap of zig-zagging light. The feeling of flying and falling at the same time. The smoky smell of a person he had electrocuted to death.

“The deal is that I do what I think is best, for us to succeed,” he bit out, trying not to match the desperate energy she had clearly been holding back all afternoon. “And then I accept the responsibility for the results. You know that, Astrid.”

Bren shoved her back and Astrid released him, stumbling away by a couple of steps. Her eyes were dark, a little wet.

When it was a matter of importance, Trent always gave Bren a choice. Bren wasn’t as learned as Trent, and he certainly wasn’t a teacher by any means, but it seemed like a matter of respect by this point, to give Astrid and Eodwulf a certain amount of space, so they could progress at their own pace. He wasn’t going to be responsible for either of them doing something they didn’t want to do.

“I have been training so hard,” Astrid growled, “I have been learning to perform well and creatively, and _as I am commanded_. I didn’t have to be useless.” Her eyes flicked down to where she had elbowed him in the chest, but instead of moving closer, she stalked over to her bed.

“I warned you in advance that it would be up to you.”

“You made a bad call, Bren.”

“Well, I stand by it.” He steeled his jaw. 

Bren felt a pinch of nerve in his stomach – just a pinch. Had he and Astrid been colleagues and friends and nothing more, Bren didn’t know if Astrid would have pushed this hard – or if he would have stood for it for this long. He chased those thoughts from his mind. 

“If you have a serious complaint, take it up with Trent,” said Bren, with full knowledge Astrid would never do that. “Otherwise, I don’t expect to hear another word of this.”

Astrid narrowed her eyes at him for a just moment, and then sat down on the edge of the bed, running both hands over her head in frustration.  
If Trent were in Bren’s place, he would ask for an apology. Bren wasn’t quite that strong yet.

 

Instead, Bren went to the library, grateful to find it empty. He searched for the simplest book he could find and read it all the way through, mindlessly. Twice.

 

The next morning, Eodwulf cleared out of the bedroom at the crack of dawn, having presumably noticed the tension between the other two. Bren made a mental note to take him aside immediately after breakfast, to talk about the dwarf.

But for now, there was just Bren and Astrid, each rising dozily for a new day.

They didn’t talk at all. It just took one gentle touch to Astrid’s shoulder and they were back to soft kisses, fumbling and groping over their pyjamas. It was comforting.

 

“I want to speak with you, after we have eaten,” said Bren when he and Astrid finally arrived downstairs. Eodwulf was sitting at the breakfast table, patiently waiting for the food to appear, as it always did at precisely fifteen minutes past seven, and sipping steadily on what looked to be strong, black coffee.

“Has something happened?” Eodwulf sounded oddly sheepish. Bren tilted his head to one side.

“No?” he said. “No, of course not. I just want to talk. See how you are going.”

Eodwulf nodded as breads, grain, and cheese suddenly appeared on the table before him.  
“Of course.”

 

That plan was nixed by Trent. Bren figured he probably should have seen that coming; Trent was the other person he had not spoken with since the dwarf. Their teacher brought morning vials of potion for all of them, and told Bren to go with him to his office, immediately.

Bren gave Eodwulf an apologetic shrug. He downed his potion as quickly as he could, feeling his eyes prickle as it tore its way down his throat, and followed Trent.

 

Trent’s office was back to normal. Perhaps not quite as neat as he was used to seeing it, though that was honestly difficult to tell. It was always full of different things, some moving, some glowing, and sometimes there was something ticking though Bren was never sure where. Most of it, Trent had explained, related to his own area of speciality – Divination – but he’d also had a good many years to collect other curious knick-knacks. 

There was no sign of the dwarf.

“I packed the table away,” said Trent as he sat down at his desk. It was in the corner of the room, as usual, with a second chair next to it for Bren. “And mended it. Also the floor. Eodwulf buried the body.”

Bren closed the door behind him, and sat down in the second chair.  
“Oh.”

“That’s not what I want to talk to you about though,” said Trent, apparently done with this topic. 

Bren frowned.  
“I was planning to meet with Eodwulf actually, right now.”

“He’ll still be here,” said Trent dismissively. “I have a lot to get done today. We are going to progress, Bren.”

Bren folded his hands in his lap and waited, putting aside his frustration.

“You have been taking the vials for long enough,” said Trent. His chair scraped across the floor as he shifted to face Bren, rather than the desk, and Bren saw what looked like a ring of tiny keys in his hand. “We are not moving fast enough.”

“Fast enough for what?”

“My schedule,” said Trent, just a hint of impatience in his tone.

Bren frowned. More frustration, but he put that aside too. It wasn’t ideal, but he did understand that some topics could simply not be discussed while Bren was a student. The Soltryce Academy was already giving them a lot of leeway. Bren suspected that Trent’s schedule was less to do with the Academy and more to do with the Cerberus Assembly.

Trent examined him for a moment.  
“Are you afraid of pain, Bren?”

“What?”

“Pain,” Trent repeated lightly. “Does it scare you?”

This was certainly not an easy question to answer. The potions were painful, and Bren was familiar by now with the heady rush of his own nerves before taking one, knowing what was to come. And only last month, he’d had his arm broken in three places by an apelike abomination Trent had organised for he, Eodwulf, and Astrid to test their skills upon, and if he had to repeat the experience, he would not change anything. They’d succeeded; it had been worth it. It had actually been pretty fun aside from the broken arm.

“It is usually logical to be afraid of pain,” said Bren slowly. “But I don’t think I would let that rule me?”

Trent nodded approvingly.  
“I like your confidence,” he said. “I will be honest; I anticipate that the next step will be more painful than the potions. Before I can get the components together and finalise my preparations, however, it would help to conduct a test on one of you three. It will hurt.”

Bren tried to think of what that could mean, but Trent honestly looked uncomfortable saying even this much.

“I had thought – well, hoped,” said Trent, “that you might like to volunteer. If not, that’s fine, but I would appreciate your input on which of the others would be willing and appropriate.”

“No – yes,” said Bren. He had been expecting Trent to tell him it had to be one of the others – but if Bren could be the first to take on one of these challenges for once, he would definitely take the opportunity. “Of course I would like to help. Thank you for the option; I am happy to volunteer.”

Something in his voice must have sounded like a question.

“You can help with this because I do not have my components yet. It’s a test run. Not risky,” Trent explained. “Well – minor scarring perhaps. Give me your arm.”

Trent patted the desk. Bren automatically did as he was told. The sleeves of his white shirt were already neatly folded up to the elbows. Trent turned his arm over so Bren’s hand was palm-up, and scrutinised it thoughtfully. He tried to push at the rolled-up sleeve, but it wasn’t quite loose enough to shift all the way up to Bren’s shoulder.

“Get this out of the way,” said Trent.

Bren swallowed and pulled his hand back, unbuttoning his shirt so he could slip his arm out. He kept it half on, to maintain a sense of poise, and placed the now-empty sleeve in his lap. Trent wasn’t watching though; he had moved back to pull a thin, wooden box from behind a small stack note books. He opened the lid carefully, and Bren saw a collection of long blades. All metallic, shades of silver and bronze, and one that was a darker shade of not-quite-black.

Before he needed to be told, Bren placed his arm back on the desk, palm up. Trent positioned the open box of blades next to Bren’s arm, and wrapped one hand very firmly around his student’s wrist, almost but not quite to the point of pinching. Reflexively, Bren tried to move his hand, but Trent’s grip was surprisingly tight; pulling away would be a challenge.

“So, will this be quick?” Bren asked, trying to play his nerves off as humour.

Trent didn’t return his smile.  
“It will not be quick. Try to keep still.”

 

Trent carefully selected up one of the knives, a dull silvery one, his eyes carefully focussed on Bren’s arm. He pressed the tip against his skin about halfway between the wrist and elbow and off to the left, away from the artery. Bren swallowed as the pressure of the blade against his skin increased, pushing harder, and harder, until it finally punctured and he gave some kind of strangled help, fingers twitching as sharp shock and even sharper pain hit him at once. Immediately, a rivulet of blood started oozing out and Trent paused for a moment. Then he pushed deeper.

 

Trent Ikithon is methodical. Bren has always known that to some degree, but it only becomes clearer with time. 

Mercy, like all other impulses, is something to be considered and evaluated – sometimes disregarded. This is one part of Bren’s lesson about sacrifice and decision making. A challenging part.

Trent thinks most people are foolish. Aimless. They have no direction, no higher understanding, no ability to manage themselves or their lives outside of the moment. They have no perspective. That gives the few who do possess that higher understanding and superior skill set a very serious decision to make. They can choose to invest in the listless masses, to keep them safe, give them sound governance, and protect them from the crippling horrors, the hellish wastes, and anarchy – or they can choose to abandon their potential and throw it all away.

Without the protection of those who have mastered their lives and their arcane crafts, people are just huddling, vulnerable to the next threat. Distracting themselves – or not – with mundane busywork and cheap entertainments. Without safety, life for them would be nothing but a test of resilience. 

 

Trent spoke about all of this with Bren for the first time as he carefully and methodically experimented with slicing into the flesh of Bren’s arm, pausing frequently to draw arcane symbols with one his soon-bloodied fingers. Bren suspected this was how Trent was recording his observations, though the actual spell he did not recognise.

After the first little stab, Trent tried some more shallow cuts, dragging the blade across the inside of Bren’s upper arm as Bren tried not to breathe too deep lest his chest brush against his teacher’s hand or the base of the knife. It stung. Then, Trent pressed the blade in again, tip first, and Bren closed his eyes, trying not to make a sound as his skin and then his flesh was cut open. He tried as hard as he could to relax his muscles. If the muscle twitched, which happened a couple of times, that was when Bren screamed.

Trent tried all of the blades at least once and all were very sharp, but Bren could tell which were the dullest because they hurt so much more going in. From what he could tell, Trent was just testing how he reacted to being sliced into with very narrow knives. Checking what made him jump, what made him scream, what made him instinctively try to pull away. Bren could remember all of it, of course. He paid close attention and was vaguely grateful for his memory because if there was anything Trent missed, any information he needed (how much it bled, what made him twitch, what made him grind his teeth so hard he was surprised he couldn’t taste blood), Bren could give it to him so they never, never had to do this again. 

At one point, Trent stabbed into the flesh near the outside of Bren’s elbow, at an angle, reaching towards the joint but not quite deep enough to reach bone or cartilage. Hands steady, he wasn’t looking at the knife but at Bren’s face, and Bren tried to jerk back when the muscle spasmed, but couldn’t. When Trent twisted the knife, Bren knew his resolve was being tested. He did scream as yet more fresh tears welled in his eyes, but he didn't look away from his teacher's face.

Trent rotated the blade back to its initial position.  
“That wasn’t part of the trial,” he admitted without apology. “But I find one can learn a lot about a person’s level of commitment at a time like this.”

When Bren had tried to babble earlier, Trent had shushed him because he was trying to concentrate. This time he didn’t.

“Why is it so hard to believe?” Bren managed in a shaky voice. “I will do – whatever I have to do to – prove it but you know I’m committed, Trent.”

Trent kept the blade still, ignoring the warm blood running over his hand.  
“I never said you weren’t,” he responded gently. “I know you’ll help me, won’t you? We’ll keep the Empire strong.”

“Of course, of course, I want to!” Bren promised, high pitched, before finally the knife was slowly withdrawn.

“Then you shouldn’t mind proving it to me from time to time. Try to stay still. I know you don’t understand but this is important.”

Bren knew the Empire was worth it, worth all of this and more. It almost hurt that his teacher felt the need to test his allegiance – or maybe didn’t? There was a possibility that Bren was completely wrong and Trent was just humouring him. At the time, the pain and fear were too much to allow for clear thinking.

Trent explained that he was working on something more effective than the potions. Near the end, he told Bren they would be using crystals. How or why, Bren could not begin to imagine.

 

Every now and then when things were quiet, Trent would ask, “Does this hurt?”  
The answer was always, “Yes.”

 

At the end of it, Bren felt like his mind had partially left his body. The spindling, persistent, burning pain in his arm was overwhelming, and by now, his blood had formed a small puddle on the floor, with more still spewing from narrow wounds scattered from his shoulder to his wrist. Trent’s hands and Bren’s arm were wet and very, very red, some fresh and bright and some older streaks becoming tacky as it dried. 

Somewhere inside, Bren knew he was probably experiencing shock and blood loss. This, combined with his recently exercised pain threshold from the potions, and absolute certainty that he did not want to have to go through this more than once, must have been just enough to keep him in place.

 

Finally, Trent released his wrist. Bren didn’t feel it, whether from indifference or pain – he didn’t feel it.

His teacher placed two bottles on the table. Two healing potions, one very basic and the other in what seemed to be a crystal decanter, honestly the deepest, most mesmerising shade of pink-red Bren had ever seen. He blinked and there were four potions, and oh, he was seeing double.

“Patch up with this,” said Trent, pushing forward the simple potion. “This one is for emergencies.” He pushed forward the fancier one. “That means if you, Bren, are in danger of imminent death.”

Trent smiled fondly, warmer now that he was finished with his thin knives. Apparently, the sluggishness of Bren’s mind was evident on his face. Trent unstoppered the simple potion and placed it within easier reach.

“Drink this now,” he repeated. “Then get one of your friends to help fix you up. Tell them as much or as little as you think will best serve you.” 

Trent used some familiar arcane symbols and in the next moment, the blood had disappeared from his hands, from Bren’s arm, from the desk, and from the floor. More spilled from the wounds though, almost immediately streaking fresh trails across his skin. Each cut looked so small when they were clean. They were small. It felt pathetic somehow, like they couldn’t have been the source of that much pain, let alone that much blood.

As the shock began to ease, Bren’s arm hurt more, but his head also started to clear a little.

Trent looked like he was about to leave, but paused for a moment.  
“Do you mind if I-?”

He indicated something, but Bren wasn’t really watching.  
“Sure.”

Trent reached over to one of the more freely bleeding wounds and touched his finger to it lightly. Bren hissed, and looked over as Trent licked his own finger curiously. Bren stared, and his teacher actually looked slightly sheepish, like this was a normal day, a normal situation, and a mild faux pas.

“I apologise,” said Trent. “It is just that I have just been curious – you said the potions tasted like ‘someone else’s blood’; I wanted to know if I could tell the difference. And ah – no.”

Bren blinked three times and then just drank the healing potion. By the time he had swallowed it down, Trent was gone.

 

He looked at the other potion on the table – the fancy one – with a frown. The bottle alone was probably worth more than all of his possessions put together, and he’d never seen a healing potion that looked so refined. Bren knew it was meant for him and him alone. He put it in one of the pouches at his belt, where he kept the more valuable of his spell components.

Also, had Trent said ‘crystals’? Surely Bren had not imagined that.

 

It was very confusing. Bren didn’t know what to do with himself. The potion meant that the cuts were not bleeding profusely anymore, but they were still wounds, and some of the deeper ones still wept. He was definitely not used to hurting when nobody else was hurting, or being not-strong when everyone else was strong. When he thought of asking for help, he realised he didn’t want to get Eodwulf or Astrid. He wanted his Mum or his Dad – and if not them he at least wanted Trent to come back.

Trent didn’t come back.

 

Bren took a piece of copper wire out of his pocket at one point. However substantial this – conversation? session? – felt, he had only actually been in Trent’s office for just under an hour (fifty-two minutes). Astrid was most likely in the library, as she had planned, and Eodwulf was most likely on the patio. He could message either one of them if he wanted. 

He put away the wire and took some of the regular parchment from Trent’s desk, wincing as he used it to wrap around his wounded arm to hopefully hide the blood and avoid making too much of a mess. Bren put the rest of his shirt back on, and where blood bloomed through the paper and shirt, covered it with his good arm, making a bee-line for the bathroom.

It wasn’t easy to focus right now, but at least the task was simple. Bren locked himself in the bathroom and retrieved medical supplies from the cupboard in there (Trent’s house was full of medical supplies, which the students were of course all welcome to). Shucking the shirt and paper, Bren set about applying a little herbal ointment to the surface of each small wound before wrapping his arm up. It took two spools of bandages from wrist to shoulder; Bren ignored the lightheaded feeling and his own unusually pale reflection.  
He looked at the stack of now mostly dry, bloodied paper and frowned. Using only one hand, he incinerated it. Fire was easy.

 

Then, Bren walked up the stairs to their bedroom. He removed his belt where he carried his spell components, clumsily pulled on a dark jacket so his blood-stained shirt was not immediately visible, and lay down face first on his bed, immediately asleep.

 

At one point Bren thought he might have felt someone touching his arm, which half woke him up. He waited to see if they said or did anything – but they didn’t, so he allowed himself to dip back into unconsciousness.

 

By the time he woke up properly, it was early afternoon – fourteen minutes past one. He had been asleep for hours. Even though it was a cool day, the early afternoon sun was shining in through the window onto his lower back and legs, and he felt very warm and drowsy. 

Bren kept his eyes shut for a moment and gave a long exhale, as he allowed himself to just feel the pain of nine deep, narrow blade wounds, two deep, messy, ragged blade wounds, and half a dozen nasty scratches. The healing potion and rest had helped a lot, but he had still been stabbed, even if it was in the arm and even if the blades were tiny. The wounds ached, and the ugly ones, the ones that hit muscle and the one where Trent had twisted the blade, still burned sharply when Bren moved his arm. 

Awkwardly, he twisted around to sit up without putting any weight on that arm, and nearly jumped out of his skin to see Eodwulf sitting quietly on the floor, facing him. 

 

Eodwulf had a book sitting open in front of him, on the ground, and held something in his hand. He had looked up by the time Bren noticed him, and gave a little smile.  
“Good morning again,” he said.

“Eodwulf.”

“Are you alright? You’re moving weird.”

Bren adjusted his position, and made sure his jacket was indeed covering any bloodied section of his shirt. It was. He didn’t even consciously know why he didn’t want Eodwulf to know what had happened.

“I tried something I thought I would be ready for,” said Bren after a moment. He didn’t have to pretend to feel self-conscious. “Turns out… not quite. I have not reached that milestone, I suppose.”

Eodwulf winced with sympathy.  
“I’m sure you will soon. Do you want me to do anything – get you anything? I brought up some water.”

He pointed to a cup full of water that sat next to Bren’s bed, and Bren felt a rush of affection. He leaned down to grab it with his good hand, and sipped at it. Even his wrist felt sore; Trent really must have needed to squeeze it tight.

“Thank you,” said Bren. He paused for a moment, looking at Eodwulf’s hand. 

Eodwulf must have noticed, as he opened it to show Bren his holy symbol, just sitting there. Bren had seen it many times before; Eodwulf had slept with it next to his bed even when they were young children. The holy symbol of Erathis was made of iron, and very scratched up from years of use, to the point where it really just looked like a little axe, the carvings that made up the rest of the symbol all but erased by time.

“How are you faring?” Bren asked. Hopefully he was ready for this conversation. He was sure it would be fine though – this was Eodwulf.

“I’m okay.”

“Really?”

Eodwulf took a breath, but nodded.  
“Did Master Ikithon tell you I buried the dwarf?”

“Yes.” Bren paused. “I wouldn’t have stopped you, you know. I would have helped if you asked.”

“I felt sorry for him.”

Bren’s brow furrowed.

“Not like – not in a regretful way,” Eodwulf added quickly. “I don’t think so, anyway. He was just such a wretch.”

“They threaten everything we stand for, everything we believe in,” said Bren slowly. “To undermine the Empire-”

“Is a waste of a life,” Eodwulf interrupted. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“It is sad that he chose that, I suppose,” said Bren uncertainly.

Eodwulf seemed satisfied.  
“Yeah.

Bren wondered if this meant Eodwulf would want to bury all of them. Because he knew there would be more, even if he was still trying to process the idea. There would be more.

“You did very well,” he said after a moment of quiet. “Eodwulf, you were the boldest of us.”

His friend smiled.

 

Eodwulf’s biggest lesson is bold. That is why Trent encourages him to use acid. Acid burns and mutilates, even when it is a small, simple spell or literally just a flask of acid. It is difficult to fight with acid without making a substantial impact. When acid doesn’t kill, it maims.

Eodwulf’s magic spans well beyond just acid though, of course. In Transmutation, there is often a lot of room for creativity, and Eodwulf is very creative when he confident and bold enough to try. Bren doesn’t know how to make his friend confident, but he is doing is best.

 

They sat in silence for a little longer, Bren just sitting and Eodwulf’s eyes going back down to his book.

“Do you think it was the right thing for me to do, to refrain from making an order?” Bren asked after a while. “Regarding the dwarf.”

Eodwulf frowned.  
“I’m not trained in the way you are at all,” he said. “At all.”

“But what do you think?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes,” said Bren. “Of course, I always want for you to be honest with me.”

“I think…” Eodwulf ran his tongue over his teeth. “I think it was maybe cruel, but for the best never the less.”

“You know Astrid is upset.”

Eodwulf gave a grimace of understanding.  
“For me, I just think – if you had made it simple, what would we have learned?”

Bren nodded slowly and leaned back against the wall, drinking more of his water.  
“Thank you,” he said quietly.

He cradled his still aching arm in his good one.

 

The next morning when they all took their potions and tried to keep from wincing, the pain did not seem so bad to Bren, by comparison.


	4. Trent's Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trent has them go through extreme circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I am not entirely sure what to warn for.  
> This is the chapter that made me realise the tag I was searching for is 'psychological torture' though, if that helps.

It wasn’t clear to Bren how long it would take for Trent to get his components ready for the real experiment. He had no idea where these crystals would be coming from. Meanwhile, the three students’ power continued to grow.

The workload had increased, as had the complexity of the magical theory they were studying. All three of them had learned to speak Celestial in their first year, but now Bren was trying to learn Sylvan too. Because Eodwulf was learning Draconic and Astrid Elven, it was extremely difficult for them to practice with each other. They were learning to write the languages before speaking them aloud, and it was… very engaging. It exercised Bren’s mind in a way that few other pursuits did, which he appreciated.

It also didn’t require him to use his arm, which was healing – but slowly. Where the knives had sliced into muscle, Bren still ached, and the area of each stab wound still carried deep, nasty looking bruises. He had been sure to wear long sleeves since then, and subtly kept his arm out of sight as best he could, even from Astrid.

Luckily, the work was distracting, so he didn’t have to deal with awkward questions. Being so busy made it easier to put thoughts of knives, crystals, and blood, to the back of his head along with the memory of the nameless husk of a dwarven traitor buried somewhere outside Trent’s house.

 

After almost fifteen months of Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid, training at Trent’s home, Trent told them they had a new assignment and they were not to go back inside.  
It was near the middle of the day and Trent had been in the gardens with them, leading a lesson about elemental potency. It was almost time for lunch (seventeen minutes before noon), and Bren was in the middle of dousing a small firepit he had been experimenting with when Trent made the announcement.

Not only were they not to go inside, but they were to place everything they had with them into a crate, which Trent summoned from seemingly nowhere.

At first, they just placed in the obvious items – Eodwulf was carrying a flask of acid for the purpose of the lesson, Bren had two reference books, and Astrid had recently taken to carrying a knife. Trent was thorough though. He wanted their papers and quills, their spell books and all of their components, their shoes, even the ties and clips from Astrid’s hair. Astrid’s hair stayed together in its long braid, but Bren knew from experience it wouldn’t take long to unravel, and previously clipped locks of her fringe immediately fell into her face.

They were all confused, of course, but the only real hesitation came when Eodwulf had to give up his holy symbol. He placed it in the crate with significant trepidation.

“Good. But Bren, take this back,” said Trent. He withdrew from the crate the special, lightly glowing healing potion he had given Bren for emergencies. The others looked mildly curious as Trent handed it over. “And this is for if you fail.”

Trent withdrew from his own coat what looked like a platinum locket on a delicate chain.

Bren looked at him, for a long moment, wondering if this itself was a test.

Trent raised an eyebrow and handed the necklace it to Astrid, who took it.

“This is an assignment, Bren. You have failed before.”

That didn’t help at all. Whatever Bren had apparently failed, it hadn’t been anything official – it was at least not anything Trent had told him about. Bren never failed. Failure was unacceptable. Aside from letting himself down, that would mean letting down Eodwulf and Astrid, not to mention Trent and the Academy, even the Empire.

Trent produced a small backpack, which Bren recognised as magical.

“In here is a ready supply of potions. All of you are to continue taking them every morning, and every night. There are also a dozen waterskins, all full.”

“What?” said Astrid flatly, pushing her hair out of her face (to little effect; she wore hair clips for a reason). “How long are we going to be?”

Trent didn’t answer her.  
“You will see light on that mountain,” he said instead, pointing towards one of the distant mountains. Bren tried to follow with his eyes, but the mountains were too far away to know which he would be referring to precisely. “There you will find a sending stone, with which you may communicate to me that you have succeeded.”

Eodwulf and Bren exchanged looks of alarm, while Astrid just stared at Trent through her hair. Bren wondered if their teacher could tell she was holding back anger. Probably; it wasn’t subtle.

“I will give you items to aid you. No magic.” The last couple of words were tacked on quickly; of course, the first thought for all three would be for their spell books back. “Any items will come at a not insubstantial cost.”

From the finality in his tone, it was clear that whatever he called a ‘cost’ would not be explained in any greater detail before the decision was made. Bren ran his hand through his hair. Right. Between here and the mountains appeared to all be woodland…

“How populated would you say these woods are?” Bren asked.

Trent smiled slightly.  
“You have been living here for well over a year, Bren.”

Bren ran his tongue over his teeth, and Astrid swore under her breath.

“I don’t know anything,” Eodwulf supplied quietly. His voice sounded utterly miserable, and Bren was irritated. He could feel their teacher’s amusement, though it was understated. It was always understated.

“Trent,” Bren tried. “Surely it is not necessary to take Eodwulf’s holy symbol.”

“You may have it back at a cost. Discuss. I need a few minutes in any case.”

Trent closed the crate and strode back towards the house. Bren recognised some of the arcane symbols he was tracing in the air, even from a distance; they flashed blue. Trent’s homestead would not be here much longer.

“This is ridiculous,” hissed Astrid.

“Astrid,” Bren warned.

“It is though,” she told him, trying to tuck her bangs behind her ears but they were too long and slightly too thick. “It’s not fair, and I don’t see how this even relates to-”

“ _Astrid!_ ” Bren interrupted, sure to keep his voice low. “You are correct; you don’t see. That is the point, and I very much suspect we will have limited time to think of items we need.”

“There are bats at night,” said Eodwulf. “They must feed on something. That time we – when we fought the werewolf. Was that local or did Master Ikithon bring it here?”

“Do you have any magic left after that lesson?” Astrid asked. “Any at all? That last ice snap was it for me…”

 

Trent seemed pleased to discover that, by the time he returned, they had settled on a wish list. Bren was still rearranging what should be prioritised in his head.

First, they wanted a book about the local fauna in this part of Rexxentrum. Fauna because this would help in terms of predicting threats, but also food sources – animals had to eat something, as Eodwulf had reasoned.

Trent didn’t look surprised. In fact, he was carrying one such book in his robe. Bren took it, embarrassed. It was probably from the library. At any time over the past year he could have read through that book, but it had just never occurred to him.

“One of you will not use your hands,” said Trent. “Until the assignment is failed or complete, your fists will be clenched.”

He demonstrated, closing his fists. Not one of them had a single spell that they would be able to cast without their hands or components. Eodwulf rubbed his temple, and Astrid licked her lips, straightening her back but not verbally complaining.

Bren cut down the wish list of items in his head dramatically. He ran through the spells he knew the group could cast, and sighed. Trent was watching him closely, but he didn’t seem to disapprove at all.

“Give us a healing potion,” Bren said quietly.

The other two looked at him, and Astrid’s mouth hung open.

Bren had failed assignments, apparently. Ones he didn’t even know about.

He was pretty certain that not giving the special healing potion to Eodwulf or Astrid was an ongoing assignment.

Unsurprised by this request also, Trent withdrew a standard healing potion from his robe and handed it over. He didn’t smile, but his expression warmed.

“Anything else?”

“What was the cost?” asked Bren.

Trent didn’t answer. He crossed his arms and looked curiously between the three of them.

“And we want a dagger,” said Bren after a few moments.

Trent withdrew a dagger also, which Bren took and concealed in his own cloak. Apparently, they were very predictable. Their teacher, on the other hand.

“One of you,” said Trent, “will be rendered deaf and blind.”

Bren almost dropped the healing potion.  
“Are you serious?”

“Until you succeed or fail. Is there anything else you would like?”

 

Bren did not allow himself to regret asking for any of these items. He refused.  
“No,” he said. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?

 

Trent looked for a long, searching moment at Astrid, who stared blankly, and then for an equally long, searching moment, he looked at Eodwulf, who didn’t meet his gaze.

 

“That is all we are requesting,” said Bren decisively.

 

Properly utilising his allies is one of Bren’s lessons. Trent is disappointed when Bren does not learn one of his lessons. Bren really does not like disappointing Trent.

Bren being able to demonstrate that Eodwulf and especially Astrid are prepared to step back and trust him when the time is right is absolutely vital.

 

Bren didn’t consult; there was no ‘good’ answer here.

“Astrid will lose her hands,” said Bren. “Eodwulf will lose his senses.”

And they were going to cross the woodlands and climb a mountain.

 

Bren suspected that Trent would ask about this decision later. Really, it was practical. Astrid was an illusionist. Her magic was the least useful in this situation, and she had no powerful magic reserved at all, only her base level tricks. She would be easier to carry, and she had a tail. Eodwulf, meanwhile, had known Bren since childhood and trusted him implicitly. Unlike Astrid, he would follow orders blindly and without hesitation. They would find some way to communicate.

And yes, maybe, technically, the smartest option would have been to completely incapacitate just one of them, but Bren didn’t want to do that. He told himself it was because he couldn’t afford to mentally risk one of his colleagues, but to some degree, he also just wasn’t strong enough to do that to one of his friends.

Bren did try just one time more to request the holy symbol back without a cost, but Trent did not relent.

 

Astrid put on the platinum necklace before Trent cast the spell on her to take away the use of her fingers. It was eerie; he didn’t move, except to look at her carefully and speak a few words in a language Bren did not understand. Astrid’s eyes slipped out of focus for the briefest of moments, and her hands curled into fists. It didn’t even look like she was under a spell, but Bren knew she couldn’t open them. Later, they would test the spell by trying to squeeze a stick into her fist, but Astrid was compelled to use all of her might to keep her hands clenched and empty.

 

Bren could feel Eodwulf’s anxiety, radiating off him in waves when it was his turn. Who knew how long it would be before they finished this assignment? None of them would want to give up, but even just making it to the mountain and back would probably take a week.

“You know my spells,” said Eodwulf.

“We are climbing a mountain,” Bren told him. “I am going to find you a feather and that is the only complicated spell you’ll need. You can do that at least once, yes?”

His friend nodded briskly. Trent did not interject, but his gaze held a level of warning, that this conversation would not be allowed to continue for much longer.

“Punch for acid,” said Eodwulf breathlessly, lightly knocking against his own arm with a fist. “Scratch for thunder. Bite for feather fall. Shake me for prestidigitation but we’ll have to work that out as we go.”

“If you are in doubt, ask yes or no questions and we will answer,” said Bren.

“Ready?” said Trent. Eodwulf nodded, but their teacher waited for Bren to confirm.

“I’ll try to carve you a holy symbol,” Bren added before nodding to Trent to cast the spell.

“Lawbearer,” Eodwulf murmured to himself, then gave a shaky exhale.

It was painful to watch, honestly, and even more so because it was Bren’s decision. Still, though. While he didn’t understand what the appeal was about the stupid Lawbearer, he did know he had never been this frustrated with Trent before.

 

It took ten intense minutes of Trent staring at Eodwulf and performing honestly the most sophisticated arcane symbols Bren had ever seen with one hand while the other was pressed to Eodwulf’s temple. Every now and then, Trent would murmur under his breath,

“Now, don’t resist…”

Eventually, Bren noticed the colour of Eodwulf’s eyes had faded, from piercing, sharp blue, to a faded sky blue, to a sickly shade of grey. Trent was sweating.

“Speak now,” he said. There was no response.

Trent withdrew his hand from Eodwulf’s head and withdrew a handkerchief to dry his own brow, and Eodwulf placed his hands in his pockets uncomfortably, off-balanced.

Bren immediately approached. He picked up Eodwulf’s hand in both of his own. Eodwulf squeezed his hand back, still looking in Trent’s vague direction – or rather, the direction their teacher had been in before Eodwulf had lost his sight.

“Good luck to you,” said Trent. “If there is an emergency, touch your inner wrist to the pendant three times; I will check in on you. If it is not emergent enough, I will consider this exercise a failure.”

“Alright,” said Bren.

“Yes, Master Ikithon,” said Astrid.

Eodwulf didn’t say anything because he had not heard.

 

Trent drew an arcane symbol in the air, and the crate full of their belongings disappeared.

Then, he strode back into his house. Bren was sort of half-expecting the voice in his head, so he didn’t jump.

_“This lesson is for you, Bren. Be strong enough to own your choices. If frustration rules you, this will be a waste of our time.”_

After a couple of moments in which Bren chose not to answer, the whole house shimmered and disappeared, leaving a beautiful, but empty, field of grass. He swallowed. Breathed. Bren made the decisions, he owned the consequences. That was the deal.

Bren punched Eodwulf lightly in the back, and Eodwulf immediately drew a symbol in the air, and threw acid in the direction where the house used to be. A patch of grass hissed, then fizzled, leaving a sickly brown burn behind. Bren rubbed Eodwulf’s back to indicate that everything was okay.

“We need to find a way to camp,” said Astrid, looking up at the sky. It was properly lunchtime by now, and they had no camping equipment, food, or shoes.

“I need to quickly read this book,” said Bren. “You practice…” He waved at Eodwulf. “Just practice. Otherwise, when anything dangerous comes about, you will just have to punch it and that would not be ideal.”

“Is it starting?” asked Eodwulf. “Has Master Ikithon left?” He paused for a beat, biting his lip. “Up and down for yes, side to side for no.”

One of Bren’s hands was still holding Eodwulf’s, and something clenched inside of him as he moved it up and down in agreement. Eodwulf seemed to ease ever so slightly at the successful communication, but all Bren could think was ‘I’m sorry’.

 

Resilience is a lesson for all of them. It’s a lesson for any person who would try to become truly adept, truly strong. Trent shares a lot with Bren, tells him about the other students at the Academy, even some of the more innocuous details about his work with the Cerberus Assembly. He tells Bren about his own magic, occasionally a little bit about his own time in school, studying under many of the same elves as the current students are learning from. Elves don’t change much. Elves live long, but they live slow.

Trent shares things about his own lessons with Bren. Trent’s lessons are things like patience and balance. He says the lessons never really end, because you keep learning them, but every time you do, it comes more easily. Trent’s biggest lesson is in planning and strategy, and he says it’s a lesson he needs to learn every day.

Trent doesn’t share any of this with Eodwulf or Astrid. Resilience is the only one of his own lessons that Trent shares with them. He tells them about how he has been tested, just as he tests them. Tells them about battlefields strewn with bodies, both monstrous and humanoid, friend and foe. He tells them about being ripped apart under the banner of the Assembly, or even the Righteous Brand, and spitting out blood and curses into the faces of the Dwendalian Empire’s rampaging enemies.

They remember this when the challenge feels too steep. They all remember, they have to be stronger.

 

The fish ponds outside Trent’s house were apparently native to the area; they had not disappeared with the house, so Bren had a place to start in getting some kind of food together – which seemed like a sensible first step. He was the only one with the capacity to actually try and catch anything, the only one who could try to construct anything. Even just to get Astrid to read their book, Bren needed to sit next to Eodwulf, pick up his hands, and explain to him without words or visual cues that he needed to turn the pages for her.

With Astrid reading, he spent the first afternoon trying to gather whatever makeshift supplies he could, and clumsily trying to catch fish using his shirt for a net.

It wasn’t quick, but they did eat that night. Bren hadn’t really caught and prepared fish before, so there was a lot of eating around and spitting out bones and scales, but they ate, and they got to save the small selection of wild mulberries he had spotted for the following morning.

“I have been taking affluence for granted,” Bren muttered as he pulled a spindly bone out of his mouth. His shirt was still laid out to dry as he sat next to the fire. Eodwulf was right at his side, close enough to feel another body there so he would know he wasn’t alone. “The Academy had an abundance, always. At Trent’s house, food literally appears on the table.”

“My family was never been short of food,” said Astrid distractedly. Bren had needed to cut her fish into chunks on her makeshift plate that was really just a flat stone, so she could pick it up between her clenched knuckles and bring it to her mouth. Her braid had long since unravelled, the fish was slippery, and her tail was not very successful at keeping her hair out of her face.

Bren looked at Eodwulf, who was himself eating very slowly, and staring off sightlessly beyond the fire where Bren had cooked their food.

“Nor did mine, not really,” said Bren. “But there were always seasons where the soup was a little thin.”

He tried not to stare as Astrid struggled in her juggling act.

“It would be easier if I just fed it to you,” Bren told her, not for the first time.

Astrid gave a wry smile.  
“I’ll keep my pride for now,” she said. “But I guess we’ll see how long that lasts.”

 

Luckily, Eodwulf was able to sightlessly clean them up with his magic, though it took a bit of time and all he could really do was remove dirt and grime. He was eerily quiet; Bren noticed him occasionally start to say something, but then reconsider and get lost back in thoughts again. Bren found him an oval stone near the fish pond, so he’d at least have something to hold in his hands. It seemed to help a little.

They all drank a potion, absorbing the familiar feeling of broken glass tearing into their throats.

And on that first night, as Trent had said, they saw the light, glowing distantly, yellow-white, halfway up one of the mountains in the East.

 

Travel was slow. They had to be careful with every step because they had no shoes. Bren tried stuffing his socks with bark to avoid sharp objects at one point, but they wore through very quickly and Astrid was the only one with a spell for mending – but of course she couldn’t cast it.

Additionally, since Eodwulf could not see or hear, he needed to keep one hand on Bren’s shoulder at all times to direct where he was going. That slowed them down even more. Then of course, there was the need to constantly look for food (of which there was not as much as Bren had hoped; too many fruits were poisonous, and none of them filling). It quickly became clear over the first full day of travel that it wouldn’t be a week to the mountain and back – just getting there would take at least five days.

There was no order, no routine, except for swallowing down potions that hurt and tasted of blood every morning and evening. Bren had hoped he might hear from Trent around that time each day, but he didn’t.

 

Then, on the third day, they were attacked by a bear.

Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have actually been that difficult to solve; Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid, were being trained as war mages, perhaps even Vollstreckers, after all. Any one of them could have managed such an encounter alone. But they were tired, and hungry, could cast only the most basic of spells (Astrid couldn’t cast any), and Eodwulf was unable to run away or even identify that this was a bear attacking until after the fact.

The whole encounter was Bren’s fault. It was a quiet area – quite peaceful, in fact – but the ground was covered in these irritating little seed pods that were painful against bare feet. The students were distracted, and didn’t keep a close enough watch on where they were going, drifting too close to the large animal’s cave.

Astrid noticed the movement first, and leapt over to Bren’s side to wield Eodwulf like a cannon, grabbing his shoulders between her fists and turning him in the correct direction while Bren darted to the side, giving himself just a moment to try and judge whether this necessarily had to turn violent. The odds were high enough, he thought, and he threw flames to singe the bear in the hope that it would run away, or at least go for him (he could after all see it coming and duck).

The bear snarled, and Astrid punched Eodwulf in the shoulder. He threw acid where she had pointed him, and it landed at the bear’s feet, searing its toes.

“Don’t aim for its face!” Bren yelled, vaguely registering Astrid’s voice answering in the affirmative. She kept punching Eodwulf – possibly more emphatically than was absolutely necessary to get the message across, but the situation was objectively terrifying – and Eodwulf kept throwing acid, some reaching the creature, some flying way off.

Bren threw fire mainly between the bear and the comparatively helpless other two students, and it did turn away. He thought for a frightening moment that it did actually lock its eyes onto him, but he had more flame brightening his hands by that point, and then suddenly there was an almighty roar of thunder. Bren jumped as it rattled his bones, and he groaned with the pain of it – but so did the bear, which completely lost interest in him, its focus on getting away from Eodwulf.

 

Astrid was panting. She wiped her bleeding nose with the back of her hand. Eodwulf was shaking, hands up, eyes unfocussed, and waiting to be prodded again.

Astrid awkwardly ran her wrist over his shoulder, and he frowned, trying to interpret that as Bren ran over wrap an arm around his best friend and pat him on the chest.

“It is all clear,” he said, even though Eodwulf couldn’t hear him. The touch was calming though, and Eodwulf lowered his hands.

“Is it all clear?” he asked. Bren picked up one of his hands and moved it up and down. Eodwulf frowned. “Is it dead?” Bren moved his hand from side to side. “So it ran,” said Eodwulf. Up and down again.

“Should we have tried to kill it?” asked Astrid semi-seriously, pushing her hair away from her sweaty face and twisting it behind her head, only for it to fall right back down. “We have to eat.”

“Astrid, it was a bear,” said Bren.

She sighed.  
“We have to eat.”

“Look, it will hopefully be scared away for a bit. If we’re lucky, there is a stream with fish or a fruit grove or something. It has been eating.”

 

They were lucky. Between them, Astrid and Bren tracked where the bear had originally come from. There were a couple of wild fruit trees with unripe but edible stone fruits, but more substantially, Bren recognised a woody looking vine, the roots of which were tubers that would keep far better than any fruit or meat.

They didn’t want to stay for too long, of course, wary of the bear, but grabbed everything they could and packed it into the magical bag Trent had given them, which also stored potions.

At some point in the little treasure trove of nutrients, Bren was crouched, pulling a root from the dirt when he noticed Eodwulf’s voice, only very soft, and a bit shaky, from where Eodwulf was standing next to him. He was reciting a ritual that Bren knew for sure he had no access to at all. Bren paused, ached inside. He patted Eodwulf’s calf encouragingly.

“It’s okay,” he promised pointlessly. “We’re fine.”

The murmuring stopped for a moment and Eodwulf leaned to the side, his hand reaching down in Bren’s general direction until it found his head and sort of ruffled his hair.

“I’m guessing this is for food,” he said in what Bren figured was meant to be a reassuring tone, and nodded his head since Eodwulf would feel that. “Great! That’s – really good, you guys.”

Bren glanced over to where Astrid was reaching up on her toes to pluck unripe fruit between her fists, very much too far away to hear the praise, and wondered whether the Lawbearer sent any sounds to Eodwulf’s unhearing ears, or any images to his unseeing eyes. He doubted it.

Bren squeezed his best friend’s calf appreciatively and went back to harvesting root vegetables, reminding himself he must not let frustration rule him.

 

The following morning, Bren was woken up by Astrid – as was usually the case. They were trying to keep watches constant.

He blinked his eyes open to the feeling of the inside of her wrist rubbing gently against his cheek. Astrid was kneeling next to him, and rocked back to sit on her feet as she saw him awaken. She looked tired, her eggshell blue-green skin a little blotchy, and dark under the eyes, and her long, long hair was a straggly mess, with leaves and sticks and dirt matted into it.

“Hey, good morning,” she said softly.

Bren felt the knotted roots of a large oak tree against which he had reclined, and felt the aching of his badly battered feet. He pushed himself upright, arching his back.  
“No sign of bears?”

“None,” said Astrid. “But look, I’ve finally given up.”

Bren’s eyes widened, and he was instantly fully awake and confused.  
“What?”

“Not on the assignment,” Astrid said hastily, with wary amusement. “On my pride. For now.”

“What do you mean?” said Ben slowly.

“I need you to cut my hair,” said Astrid.

That gave Bren pause; he narrowed his eyes with concern. He had only ever known Astrid with long hair, smooth and elegant with those tiny white horns poking out the top. Her shiny hair clips would glimmer in the light of her magic, and her hair swung when she danced. He must have been staring, because Astrid compulsively pushed messy, tangled hair from her forehead with one fist.

“Are you sure?” asked Bren.

“Yes. I am impressed I lasted this long,” she said. Another moment passed and she crossed her arms defensively. “Look, it’s part of my lesson, Bren. It’s important to fit into the mold sometimes. Be the right tool for the job.”

Bren’s crossed his legs, glancing around their improvised little resting place between four thick trees. Eodwulf was sitting up several feet away, facing side-ways to them and turning the stone Bren had given him over in his hands, murmuring to himself.

Bren looked back at Astrid.  
“What if this is my assignment? Mine alone,” he said, annoyed with himself even before he finished saying it because that had been private for a reason.

Astrid watched him.  
“What if…” she clucked her tongue inside of her mouth, words coming slowly. “What if the peak of our level of accomplishment will likely be as your second in command?” she responded, nodding jerkily at Eodwulf as she said it.

They looked at each other for a long moment, and Bren rubbed his eye. Astrid looked too certain of her words to have thought them only once. Or to have made them up herself.  
“Do you think Trent is a bit mad?” he asked finally.

Astrid shook her head.  
“No, I think he’s right,” she said flatly. “We’re not children; we don’t need pretty stories. I want to reach the height of my capacity – and so does Eodwulf.” The scowl entered her voice, with a surprising amount of heat. She was right, of course. They were sixteen, hardly children. “Pragmatism is a lesson for me, but I’m learning it. Nobody can choose every battle. If Master Ikithon had a second in command, they would be one of the important mages in the Dwendalian Empire. If you’re great, I will be great too, and we will do good things. If it’s your assignment, it’s mine too - ours too,” she corrected herself.

“I didn’t know that,” said Bren.

Astrid didn’t look apologetic. She just looked strong. Bren reached up to touch her face. Her skin was a little bit clammy, but Eodwulf had prevented them from becoming too filthy.

“I’m – I’m proud of you.”

Astrid smiled at him.  
“So will you just cut off my stupid hair? It’s driving me crazy and we can probably use it for something.”

“Yeah – of course,” said Bren.

 

It was an awkward process. All he had to work with was the dagger, but he sharpened it as best he could against a rock. As gently as he could, he gathered Astrid’s hair in thick clumps, half a handful at a time, and sawed the dagger through it. Only once did Bren scrape against one of her horns, leaving just one little groove.

They couldn’t think of a way to explain what was going on to Eodwulf, so they just left him to what sounded like a quiet, lonely prayer.

 

Astrid seemed to breathe more freely as her hair was cut away, and Bren thought this might be lesson for him, too. Maybe he should have learned it from the dwarf. The lesson was to get the job done, even if the process was messy or imperfect, and be prepared to do a little bit of damage control afterwards.


	5. Trent's Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this story is not complete! I don't know how much there is to go, as my greatest desire in writing this was to tell the story of a transition from normal schooling to the twisted horror of the mental conditioning that was to turn Bren/Caleb, Astrid, and Eodwulf into executioners.  
> I can't believe my big hiatus happened in the middle of such a formative quest - but I mainly stopped because I (a) wanted to write 'Intimidation - Deception' before Astrid or Eodwulf turned up in canon, and (b) finally started watching early Talks Machina episodes and realised I had more content to incorporate in my obsessively canon-perfect fic (for more, see the new note at the beginning of Chapter 1). I pinkie promise I had already planned the end of this chapter before E64 (but no, there are no real spoilers here).
> 
> Anyway, I know this story doesn't have a big readership at all, but for those who are still around, you are absolutely the best, and welcome back!

Bren had almost finished cutting away Astrid’s long, matted hair when they both heard Eodwulf give a sharp hiss. Bren turned, and his friend was still sitting there where they had left him, alone and obliviously facing off to the side. Eodwulf shook his right hand and then sucked on his thumb.

Bren sighed. Focussed back on Astrid. One thing at a time.

He waited until he had taken the last handful of black locks in his hand and cut it away, before he pressed a hard kiss to Astrid’s lips. She had been in a reverie of some kind, a severe frown on her face, so it took a moment for her to kiss him back. Whatever urge had driven him was evidently quite accurate though, because before long she was pressing both of her fists to the back of his head to bring them closer, and ran her clenched knuckles over Bren’s own hair.

When he pulled back, her cheeks were slightly flushed, but Bren knew there was more going on in Astrid’s head. Her hair had been hacked off with a dagger, so it was incredibly choppy and uneven, and she ran her wrist uncomfortably against the side of her now exposed neck.

“It shows off your horns,” Bren told her, trying to be encouraging. “Pretty cute.”

It wasn’t a lie, but he did deliberately omit how very different she looked. Not just from her hair, but from something in her demeanour. It was a wilder kind of tired, determination with an uncharacteristic edge of mania. He knew they should probably talk, at least a bit, and they should definitely find out what Eodwulf was actually doing, because he seemed strangely focussed.

But Bren didn’t do either of those things. He was distracted by Astrid kissing him again, harder this time, and more distracted still when she pushed herself up so they were both on their knees, and wrapped her arms around his waist to grind their hips together.

They had hasty, somewhat uncomfortable sex on a bed of prickly grass and loose strands of Astrid’s discarded hair.

 

This distinct change in energy didn’t go away, and although it felt ominous, the sense of reckless desperation actually made things easier in the moment. Trent hadn’t used the precise words this time, but the unspoken truth had awakened in Bren’s head: the method did not matter, so long as the assignment was completed. This didn’t have to be done perfectly, or neatly. It just had to be done, even if this left all three students damaged, inside or out. Wounds could heal, hair could regrow, and Eodwulf never needed to find out that he’d been sitting, blind, deaf, and alone, only ten feet from his best friends having sex.

Bren and Astrid had the class to clean themselves up a bit; they had filled their waterskins only the day before and could afford to spare some for washing, rather than relying entirely on their friend’s magic. When Bren was finally done, he went over to kneel at Eodwulf’s side, touching him as soon as he was close enough so his friend would know a person had entered his personal space. Eodwulf lowered his hands to his sides, and turned his head vaguely in Bren’s direction.

“Are we leaving?” he asked.

Bren looked down at Eodwulf’s hands. The rock he had given Eodwulf to hold onto had scratches in it - clumsy, half-formed, and very shallow grooves like he had been attempting to engrave something. Bren didn’t have to guess what; he could see the long line and attempts at shaping the trays of the Lawbearer’s scales. Eodwulf’s right thumbnail was broken, and crusted with a bit of dried blood like he had tried to use that at one point, to carve, and Bren swallowed thickly, his insides chilled with guilt, frustration, and aching sympathy. He didn’t even know if this was something his friend would have liked to hide should he have had such capacity. In his current state Eodwulf could be nothing but vulnerable.

Bren picked up Eodwulf’s hand and moved it side to side – no, they were not leaving.  
“Why-“ Eodwulf started, but cut himself off knowing that whatever question he wanted to ask, Bren could not answer. He shook his head, eerily wordless, and just reached up to hold onto Bren’s wrist, squeezing slightly too tight.

 

For now, Bren’s friends were imperfect resources available to him; they needed to be maintained in order to remain useful. If that meant stopping to cut Astrid’s hair, fine. And if it meant pausing in their travels for half a day to make Eodwulf a damn holy symbol to the Lawbearer, then that was fine too. If Trent considered this time wasted, Bren would deal with that. In this new, desperate environment, he could not afford to worry too much about what assignments he had failed without even knowing.

To be fair, though, Trent presumably didn’t want any of his students mentally broken. Perhaps he would simply be surprised that Bren hadn’t stopped to make a holy symbol earlier.

 

They stayed at that clearing for most of the day, as Bren focussed his mind, and properly got to the task of making Eodwulf a trinket out of wood. He didn’t even know if it would help, honestly, but he hoped at the very least that it would give Eodwulf a clear reminder that he was not alone. Eodwulf was perfectly aware that Bren loathed woodwork.

By the time Bren had constructed something that could loosely be described as a rough holy symbol of Erathis, the Lawbearer, it was mid-afternoon (three thirty-seven). Astrid gathered far more kindling than they needed for the night, carrying it between her fists and elbows, and sat down to allow her feet to heal. She didn’t look over at Bren, evidently trying to block out his attempt to whittle, a skill she alone out of the three of them actually possessed (but of course could not utilise). Eodwulf mostly rocked in place in his internal silence.

Finally, when Bren had something he told himself he was happy with, he sat down next to Eodwulf, close enough that his friend would be able to feel the side of his body and know he was there.

“Are we leaving now?” asked Eodwulf, for some reason in Celestial. He lifted one hand so Bren could move it to answer yes or no.

Bren looked down at the symbol. He had managed the bulky bit, and smoothed it out quite well. Even managed to engrave a crude facsimile of the scales. The Lawbearer’s symbol also had a handle of sorts, which had fallen off of every previous attempt Bren had made to craft this thing. This time, he’d made it bigger, chunkier, and he hoped it would stay together at least for a week.

He turned over Eodwulf’s hand and placed the piece of wood there, watching his face.

Eodwulf looked confused, bowing his head slightly as he closed his hand to identify the shape – and then, almost like a puppet with its strings cut, he crumpled forward with a quiet whine of pain, holding the symbol gently between both hands as if it was the most precious object he had ever touched, and pressing his forehead against his clasped hands.

Bren found himself unexpectedly overwhelmed, the splinters in his hands suddenly completely worthwhile.

“I did my best, Eodwulf,” he said, though obviously Eodwulf could not hear him.

“Lawbearer,” Eodwulf murmured under his breath.

Bren shuffled sideways to get even closer, so their sides were pressed firmly together. He wrapped one arm around his friend, squeezing from the side and feeling the shuddering breaths, the tension in Eodwulf’s stomach against Bren’s hand. Bren pressed a kiss to the side of his head, and his friend seemed to barely even notice. Bren had seen him cry plenty over the years, but he hadn’t seen Eodwulf sob since his grandmother had died.

Bren looked over, and Astrid’s expression was unreadable, her lips thinned. After a long minute of silence, she spoke.  
“This was necess-” she began, but stopped speaking as Eodwulf unknowingly interrupted.

“Bren, thank you,” he whispered, sounding very young, his voice shaking. Bren rubbed his upper arm, and kept a protective arm around him.

It took another minute or so for Eodwulf to speak again, finally opening his hands to stroke the slightly oversized holy symbol of the Lawbearer shakily, as if still processing that it was real. Bren noticed that it was now made not of wood, but of silver for the time being.

“Maybe you think I’m crazy for – maybe I am crazy already, and it has only been three days,” Eodwulf said quietly.

“Four,” Bren corrected him under his breath, not that Eodwulf could hear. “Almost five.”

“But… I never knew there were so many ways to be lost, or alone, and all at the same time,” Eodwulf went on, heedlessly speaking over him.

The lump in Bren’s throat tightened again and he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“What?” said Eodwulf, though who he was speaking to, whether it was Bren, Astrid, or himself, remained unclear. “No… No, of course not.” He lowered his head again to press his forehead directly against the silver symbol.

Bren met Astrid’s eyes. They were glassy too, her mouth slightly open.

Bren wondered what the cost would have been to bring the original holy symbol with them to begin with.

 

One of Bren’s lessons is imperfection. It is a lesson he shares with Trent, and he thinks it is probably a bigger one for his teacher. So much of what Trent does is flawless. As a tutor at the Academy, and even to private pupils like Eodwulf and Astrid, he presents himself as the all-knowing, the ideal.

Trent doesn’t talk about this lesson much even to Bren, which is how Bren knows it is important. If Trent were perfect, he would not need protégés. He would never tire, and he would never die. As it is, Master Trent Ikithon may well overcome death, but that’s not something to take for granted. Bren knows that, if Trent does die, his students, and in particular Bren, will be his legacy, and the fact that Trent has considered this is evidence that he learning and exercising his lesson, living with imperfection.

Bren first learned true imperfection while he was climbing the mountain with Eodwulf and Astrid. Things felt dire, but he maintained himself and Astrid with desperate, hasty, not very good sex, while Eodwulf pulled through only by the virtue of soothing hallucinations and the eyes and whispers of a phantom God.

Yes, Bren learned imperfection well.

 

It took a couple more days to reach the base of the mountain. What had looked like an extremely steep climb from a distance was actually one longer and more gradual, with a knobbly path – natural or otherwise – laid out before them.

The only problem was that the surface of the mountain path was so rough, and so painful against bare feet, that it was impossible to travel without any protection. The only way to avoid the razor-sharp rocks, sticks, and what seemed like scattered shards of some naturally formed crystalline material, was to hop between the large boulders to either side of the path. Their attempt to do this was derailed quickly, however. Not only was it almost impossible to lead Eodwulf in this way, but one of the rocks Astrid stepped on dislodged despite her care and agility, throwing her to the ground, and over the next half-hour her knee swelled to twice its size. Even Astrid in her single-minded determination was unable to pretend she could walk.

They hoped it would heal at least a bit with rest, but after spending an afternoon and evening without Astrid moving her leg at all, it became clear that the knee was broken. Bren gave her the single health potion.

Rather than focussing their exhausted, stressed minds on this new anxiety, this loss of this safety net, Astrid and Bren left Eodwulf to his silent darkness for ten minutes to rut furiously through their fear and frustration against the side of the mountain.

 

They didn’t try to travel via the boulders again. Instead, Bren used the dagger to cut the fabric of each of their slacks just above the knee, and used the limited cloth this provided to craft sort of padded booties. They could only hope these would last.

Only at night could they see the glimmering, dancing light of their destination halfway up the mountain, so close and yet so desperately far to climb. But it gave them (or at least, Bren and Astrid) hope to see it, so Bren told her that was why they would be travelling at night for the last leg of the journey.

The truth was that nights on the mountain were far colder than the woods below, and this would only grow more evident the higher they climbed. Before long, their makeshift shoes would be worn through and they would all lose more of the fabric that would otherwise protect them from the chill. Eodwulf could use his magic to warm one of them – but he could only do it for one cold person at a time. It was simply too dangerous to sleep during the night.

 

As they grew closer to the glimmering light on the mountain, it became clear that it was certainly fire. It was also presumably magical, given that it burned large and bright each night, but only at night, it never spread.

 

They finally reached their destination after three and a half days on the mountain – more than nine days since they had last seen their teacher, slept in beds, or eaten anything but scavenged food. There had been no water on the mountain; they had two full waterskins left. They still carried a surprisingly large amount of the tubers they had found near the bear cave, as well as some eggs from mountain birds, and plenty of Trent’s experimental, painful potions remained.

All of their long slacks had been cut above the knee, Eodwulf’s sleeves had been cut off, and Bren was without a shirt altogether by the time they reached the fire. By this point, Bren’s adolescent beard had grown out about as much as it could, so his face was scruffy, and Astrid’s crudely cut hair was utterly wild. All three had rings under their eyes, from stress and lack of sleep, and their hands and especially feet were bruised and cut. One of Eodwulf’s makeshift shoes had worn through before arriving at the fire, and a trail of little smudges of blood from his badly abused foot led back to the path – though of course he didn’t know this; his eyes were still grey and saw nothing, and Astrid’s unmarked fists were still clenched shut.

 

Before them stood an inferno, easily fifteen feet tall. The orange-yellow light flickered over their exhausted, wary faces, almost blindingly bright to look at directly.

And next to them was placed a little round display stand of pale grey stone. It was about waist height, and clearly meant for presenting an object of some sort.

 

Eodwulf rubbed his hands over his now naked arms.

“This is it, right?” he asked. “This is the location? I can feel… heat.”

Bren looked down at his own bare torso, just now processing that he, too, could feel the sharp warmth emanating from the flames. He had been too caught up to notice. His skin no longer prickled with goosebumps from the chill. He looked around them, his eyes still trying to adjust to the brightness of the flames.

“I think so,” he said. “I…” he picked up Eodwulf’s hand but didn’t know what to try and communicate to him – yes or no? The moment they had the stone, Trent had said, the assignment would be complete and Eodwulf and Astrid’s conditions would be relieved. But there was no stone here.

“Is this the third price?” asked Eodwulf.

Bren obviously hadn’t forgotten about that, but he hadn’t been thinking it either. He patted Eodwulf’s hand, and his friend sighed at the lack of any clear information.

“Can I sit down?” he asked.

Bren looked around. There was no obvious incoming risk. He moved his friend’s hand up and down, and Eodwulf leaned on him and lowered himself down to the sharp stone-strewn mountain path. He felt at the more wounded of his feet and Bren watched as Eodwulf discovered the sticky blood at the ball of his foot, and tried to rearrange the ruined fabric to cover it.

Bren carefully breathed, maintained his composure, and ran his fingernails through the thin scruff on his chin.

Astrid was staring into the fire.

“Astrid?” said Bren.

She didn’t look away, and Bren followed her gaze. Once he had blinked through the brightness, it was quite clear what had caught her attention.

Within the roaring flames, there was a ring of rocks about twenty feet in diameter. They were all slotted in close together to make a sort of waist-high fence – and in the middle of the ring stood a second stone platform. Unlike the first, there was something on that platform. It just looked like a smudge, since the leaping, dancing flames kept hiding it from view, but whatever it was seemed about fist sized. Bren felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Astrid.”

Her eyes were wild and accusatory as she turned her head to look at him.

“What?”

Bren frowned in thought, and stepped forward closer to the inferno. The heat was stifling, burning.

“Bren, careful!” Astrid argued weakly.

He held his hand before him as he moved closer, and felt as proximity to the flames heated his skin, though only his hand was close enough to burn. After almost eleven seconds of building pain, he pulled his hand back with a grimace. It throbbed, reddened and burned, though the short hairs on the back of his hand remained.

“It is magical, but… not illusory,” he said quietly. He hesitated a moment before taking a waterskin from the bag over his shoulder and emptying just a bit of it over his stinging hand. “If it was pure, we could not see through it at all.”

“If I could – if I had my magic…” Astrid said mostly to herself.

Bren was quite sure that Astrid had come to the same conclusion as he had. She talking nonsense; they all knew she could not use her magical, spectral hand; she could not use her magic.

“This is his price,” said Bren. He breathed out, and stepped over to Astrid. She didn’t object as he unclasped the platinum necklace from her neck, and threaded it around his own. If they were to fail, it would be Bren who called it off. “When you pick up the stone between your fists, you should gain use of your hands once more, because the assignment will be complete.”

Astrid squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment, shaking her head.

“Bren, that’s absurd, I will – I will _not_ …”

“If I try it, I will more likely be severely wounded. I will more likely die… You have Hellfire in your blood, Astrid,” Bren said calmly. A dark expression swept over Astrid’s face. “You can withstand.”

“Eodwulf could use prestidigitation to-”

“No,” Bren interrupted. He allowed the force in his voice to break through his weariness and exhaustion. “You are smarter than that, Astrid. Get the stone. Bring it back. We have not come all this way for nothing.” He paused. Steeled himself. “Consider this an order.”

Astrid’s nostrils flared. She punched Bren in the chest – though it was awkward, like her intention was to shove, except that her hands were clenched against her will.  
“No.”

Bren practically snarled, stepping closer to her.

“Be stronger than this, Astrid, what is the matter with you?” he told her in a low, dark voice. “I know we are tired, and already hurting, we must be resilient. You must be pragmatic – that is your lesson. Follow orders – that is also your lesson… Do you want to progress or do you want to fail?”

She stepped back shakily, pushing the short hair from her forehead and looking back with sparkling eyes towards the magical fire.

“Get the stone and finish this. That is an order, Astrid. Go!” Bren ordered, his tone hard, voice firm, and leaving no room for objections.

For a moment she looked betrayed, but it was only splash in a sea of emotions, and Bren was sure not to show any weakness of his own. Astrid straightened her back and breathed out slowly. Bren could see her fists shaking at her sides.

“Yes, Bren,” she said under her breath. Then, she ran into the fire.

 

Bren prepared himself as best he could. He kept the necklace in hand in case they needed to raise a white flag. He took the second, special healing potion from his bag, just in case. Bren was fairly certain he understood what was going on, and quite confident in his gamble, but it was still a gamble.

His eyes remained glued to Astrid as the darkness of her figure moved through the flames, stumbling with what must have been terrible pain. She wasn’t quite screaming; it was like she was trying to hold back and had clenched her jaw shut but couldn’t stop from crying out something, somehow. Bren watched with wide, tear-filled eyes as she stumblingly climbed over the ring of stones and gave another piercing shout of pain, moving closer to the centre.

There was something about this fire. It clearly hurt. It clearly burned. But it didn’t consume like normal fire. The ring of stones were not blackened, nor were they glowing red hot. Bren could tell from Astrid’s silhouette that her clothes and hair was not burning away. And then, as she had reached the centre, Bren heard a shout from behind him. He glanced back.

“What’s going on? Bren!” yelled Eodwulf, his eyes shocking, electric blue and squinting hard at the light as he scrambled unsteadily to his feet, one hand covering one of his ears as presumably even the crackling of flame would be deafening after a week and a half of silence.

All Bren could think was that she had it. Astrid had the stone; it was the right call.

He turned to face the fire once more and he could see the figure of Astrid moving away from the centre, arms drawn in like she was clutching the stone. She tried to step over the ring of rocks, but must have caught her foot somewhere, because even as Bren watched, the figure of Astrid collapsed to the ground. She did not immediately rise.

“Astrid!” Bren yelled, and was sure he could hear the same from Eodwulf.

He ran forward and didn’t even think before pushing the short way into the flame that it took to reach Astrid. His eyes burned – he couldn’t see, and could only feel for her, and his body was momentarily surrounded by flame.

 

Bren knows fire. Bren likes fire. He understands the rules of fire, and they feel right. They make sense. And the fact that fire breaks its own rules, is wild and raw enough to be unpredictable, just makes it all the more familiar.

When fire lingers, when it gets a grip and begins to eat, it is devastatingly powerful, cripplingly destructive. Magical fire, depending on the spell, can speed up that process, wreak the destruction without the flame needing to find its own life. That makes sense too. Bren understands all of it.

He knows when and how to play with fire, and respects that it is never safe. Trent may be a master of knowledge, a master of the arcane in so many ways, but there is something simple and inherent that he doesn’t understand, or at least doesn’t appreciate, about flame. Bren does.

 

Bren was in and out of the inferno fast enough that it could only singe him, and he drew on all of his strength, all of his adrenaline and all of his luck to yank Astrid out of danger and land on his backside with her torso over his legs, her head rested on his thigh.

Her clothes appeared untouched. Hair – smoking, but still there. Her skin was violently stained with pink-red blotches, not bubbling like it would from a true natural blaze, but dried and seared badly to the point of splitting open. Already, oozing wet and fire-dried blood stuck to her near the cracks in her skin. She was hot to the touch, and entirely limp.

“Are you – Astrid, breathe!” Bren demanded nonsensically under his breath; he thought he could see her chest moving just slightly, but couldn’t be sure, and before he could do anything with the potion clenched in his hand, Eodwulf was rushing up beside him. Bren flicked a hand at him to tell him to stay out of the way.

It didn’t work; Eodwulf landed on his knees next to them.

“Lawbearer, please,” he whispered under his breath as he reached out to Astrid.

 

And for the first time in Bren’s life, he saw a person’s hands glow a cool, healing, icy blue.

 

“What-?” Bren stammered under his breath, taken aback as he could see soft little motes around Eodwulf’s body, ever so faint, and when he touched his hands to Astrid, one to the side of her face, and the other to her shoulder, each of the tiny white-blue motes sped away from his skin, through his hands and into her. In one of Eodwulf’s hands, the one on Astrid’s shoulder, Bren could see clutched the makeshift holy symbol he had made. It was pure white.

 

The worst of the splits in Astrid’s fire-ravaged skin closed. The angry burns faded, though there were still pink blotches, not quite healed yet. The sizzling heat of her body eased back to a comfortable warmth, and she took in a large breath.

Astrid’s eyes blinked open just as the chilly light of Eodwulf’s healing dimmed, and she looked up at him, and at Bren.

 

“You’re alright,” Bren said softly to her. “You are… you are alright.”

She closed her mouth, but seemed too overwhelmed to summon anything but relief and confusion. Astrid closed her eyes again.

Eodwulf stared down at her and waited another few, long moments before shakily withdrawing his hands. The bright white of the holy symbol faded, though it still seemed to be made of silver.

“How did you do that?” Bren asked slowly.

Eodwulf ran his tongue over his dry lips, blinking several times more.

“Bren, I don’t know anything,” he murmured, and looked behind them, observing surroundings he had travelled but never seen. “I really don’t know anything.”

“Have you been blessed, Eodwulf?” asked Astrid, then slowly opened her eyes again, clearly too exhausted and pained to summon more than a glimmer of jealousy.

Eodwulf shifted back to sit on his heels, and looked down at the holy symbol in his hands for the first time. Then he looked at his hands, turning them over as if refamiliarizing himself with what they looked like. They were quiet for a while – one full minute, then two.

“I don’t think Master Ikithon intended for things to go this way,” said Eodwulf finally.


	6. Trent's Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid deal with the aftermath of Trent's special assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific warning notes for this chapter:  
> Heads up there's a drive-by reference to family violence - nothing explicit  
> Also, it's already in the warnings, but I want to just highlight and acknowledge the devastating effects of emotional abuse

Leadership is Bren’s lesson. Marrying compassion with control, responsibility with culpability, and consideration with authority. Managing patience and urgency.

Bren learns leadership every day that he studies under Trent, in one of its many forms.

 

Upon the mountain, Bren activated the Sending Stone as soon as he had the chance. He knew how, of course, and very well; he had first seen Trent demonstrating the magic of Sending Stones during his first year at Soltryce Academy.

Because of Trent’s own arcane specialisation as a Diviner, he had experimented with these kinds of message-carrying magics. Stones created by him personally had very distinctive markings and magical auras, and could usually only be used once – and then Trent would need to re-enchant them. The Sending Stone Astrid had rescued from the fire required arcane activation by a person with a distinct magical signature – another common feature of Trent’s enchantments. Bren didn’t hesitate to draw some arcane symbols in the air and, sure enough, the communication channel opened.

Only then did it occur to him that perhaps Trent would not available just before three o’clock in the morning. It was, to be precise, two fifty-six.

But Bren could not afford to hesitate for long. He was familiar enough with his teacher’s magic to know it probably would not work more than once, and it had already been activated.

“Trent,” he said finally. “We – we finished. We are on the mountain…”

There was no response. Something inside of Bren had been pushed so far, and he felt like he was balancing so tenuously on such a narrow ledge that he might, at the slightest provocation, curl up to finally cry, or just start to laugh like a madman. His hands shook as he felt the magical connection between the stones die, and his insides twisted as, sure enough, he was pretty sure he felt the magic itself dissipate, leaving nothing but a mundane piece of rock.

 

Patience and urgency.

 

Astrid still lay in his lap, watching through half-lidded eyes with one of her little white horns pressing into his stomach. Eodwulf still knelt beside them, his expression hard to read but his focus clearly on her as he held the currently silver holy symbol of Erathis in both of his hands. Bren swallowed thickly and looked out over the dark woods. He saw almost nothing as his eyes were so adjusted to the bright light of the fire.

The seconds ticked by, and Bren squeezed the dull rock until his fingers began to hurt, a cacophony of fears threatening to overwhelm until-

 

With a soft pop, and a faint flash of rippling blue light, Trent appeared before them.

 

Bren felt dizzy with the heady rush of relief and gratitude, and so very much affection, at the sight of his teacher. Unlike Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid, Trent looked well rested, composed. Even in the early hours of the morning, for some reason, he was dressed in professional attire, his long robes as ever impeccable, and his long, salt and pepper hair was held loosely back. Unlike them, he wore shoes. He looked comfortable.

As Trent surveyed the three students, Eodwulf and even Astrid struggled hastily to their feet, the only sign of their pain a low hiss from Astrid as she used her burned hands to push herself up from the sharp, rocky ground.

Bren held for a moment, and calmed himself, before following their lead.

“Well. You are ahead of my predicted schedule,” said Trent, not smiling per se, but Bren was immediately soothed and encouraged to hear the warmth in his voice. He hoped Eodwulf and Astrid recognised this for the approval, the compliment even, that it was. He hoped they could hear the care. “Do you have any urgent injuries?”

“No, Master Ikithon,” said Astrid, clearly the most wounded of the three.

Trent stepped towards her, and Astrid straightened her back, flexing her now-free fingers at her sides as he more closely observed the ugly scrape to her head, where it had hit the ground inside of the fire. He didn’t touch it, but his brow furrowed slightly with concern.

“Are you sure, Astrid?”

“Quite sure.”

“Trent, please do not make us go back down the mountain,” said Bren, unable to help himself.

Trent waved a dismissive hand, giving Astrid one last look of concern before stepping back from her and turning to scan Bren’s expression.  
“I would not ‘make’ you do any such thing, Bren,” he said. “You know that. And no, further travel will not be necessary for your assignment. Your task is complete.” Now he met Bren’s eye. “You have achieved your goal.”

Bren smiled with relief and let out a breath, wrapping one arm around Eodwulf’s shoulders automatically; until very recently, Eodwulf would have needed some kind of friendly touch to let him know all was well.  
“Good,” said Bren under his breath, mostly to himself. “Good, of course…”

“Not a great deal has changed,” said Trent. “With you three busy, though, I have been able to be very productive in my other work…”

He began to trace some arcane symbols in the air, and Bren instinctively knew to steel himself for the lurch of teleportation magic.

“Quite mundane work for the Academy,” Trent continued, “but also some other projects I may share with you, pertinent to my work – and soon to be yours – in strengthening the Empire…”

Without warning, there was a flash of blue light. They were inside of Trent’s house, in the kitchen. It was significantly warmer than the mountainside had been, and the room was lit up by four familiar candelabras. Bren grabbed onto the side of the kitchen table to steady his stomach as it seemed to flip over on itself, Eodwulf used a chair, and Astrid dropped to a crouch to keep her balance, wincing at the pressure this put on her recently broken knee.

“Still, as I have said, you finished early, so I have not yet completed everything I had so intended during this time,” Trent went on as if he had not just teleported them all hundreds, possibly thousands of miles. The blue light of his magic faded slowly, and Trent flicked a finger towards the fireplace, where a fragile spark began to take hold.

He walked over to the kitchen table and drew a symbol of some sort in the air, and a faint glow began to emanate from a space just next to Trent’s fingers. The glow expanded smoothly, until beneath his hand there stood the crate from nine days earlier, containing their spellbooks, shoes, Eodwulf’s real holy symbol, Astrid’s hair clips and ties, and their other confiscated belongings. As the glow faded, Trent pulled off the lid and placed it on one of the chairs.

“Your belongings,” he said, gesturing to the crate. “You can take them back now if you prefer, but the crate will be here in the morning. Bren, Astrid, unless you have any pressing questions, I would recommend you both retire for the night. It is three in the morning.”

This was a lot of information, very quickly, for their exhausted minds. The change in tone from desperation to casual domesticity, from jagged rocks beneath their feet to smooth, varnished floors, from a feeling of danger and urgency to safety and calm. For Astrid, there was also the difference between being mortally wounded and healed, and for Eodwulf, the difference between seeing and hearing the world around and having all of that completely blocked.

Bren, too, was thrown off kilter in his own way, because the whole house had apparently rotated; wherever it was now located, the direction of the patio was to the south-east instead of the north, and this upset his internal compass so much that it took a good fifteen seconds to realise Trent was only sending two of them to bed.

Eodwulf stood with his back very straight, having been singled out, and looked down at the floor almost guiltily.

“Trent, we are all wounded,” said Bren defensively, shifting slightly closer to his best friend. “Astrid most of all, yes, but – all of us.”

Trent gave a faint, patient smile.  
“You are not training to be shop hands, Bren,” he responded. “Your contribution to the Dwendalian Empire will not be as farmers, nor weavers, nor… librarians.” He sneered at the word. “Nor even simple Crownsguard. I am not training any of you for grunt work.”

He looked at Bren intently for a long moment, and Bren crossed his arms self-consciously over his still-bare torso.

“We can discuss this in my office in the evening when you feel fully rested and when my work is complete for the day. For now, you and Astrid are to get some sleep. You are exhausted, yes?”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Astrid, and stepped forward to the crate, movement slightly stilted given the wounds littering her body. She didn’t seem to have the energy to pick through it for all of her belongings, and instead just grabbed her spell book. She gave Bren a pointed look and then walked away, towards the stairs.

Bren took his own book as well, slow and hesitant to follow suit. Being around Trent made him feel like a heavy load had been lifted from his shoulders – and he was honestly too tired to try and decode whether he felt protective or jealous towards Eodwulf.

“The crate will be here in the morning,” Trent promised. “Medical supplies are available as always.”  
He met Bren’s eye.  
“Now leave, Bren.”

Bren gave a frustrated sigh.  
“Okay,” he said, and patted Eodwulf’s shoulder as he left.

 

Compassion and control.

 

Through her pain and exhaustion, Astrid was sullen up in their room.

Bren helped spread a cooling, healing salve over burned and split skin, and although he knew it was useless, worked quietly to try and overhear some snippet of whatever was happening downstairs. Astrid made no sound either; she was doing the same.

Once they had tended to her burns, Astrid lay on her back on top of the blankets. She threaded her fingers together in a way she had not recently been able, and laid them over her belly.

Bren sat next to her on the edge of the bed. He combed his fingers gingerly through her short, choppy hair. It practically detangled itself now, at least in comparison to when it had been long. He paused to run his thumb over one of her horns, the one he had scratched with the dagger.

“It’s all worthwhile,” said Astrid finally.

Bren felt the bead of uncertainty in his stomach twist.  
“Still. I am sorry,” said Bren softly.

Astrid looked over to him with a weak but definitive glare, and her jaw tightened.

Bren shrugged helplessly. Anything else would just make her more irate.

After holding his gaze for another moment, Astrid closed her eyes and exhaled, long and unsteady.

“You order me into a blazing inferno,” she murmured, “and Eodwulf gets blessed by a God.” She gave an unconvincing little laugh. “I’m sure Master Ikithon is impressed.”

Bren could hear the layers to her words, from the pain to the frustration, to the simple fact that Trent rarely had need to single out either of the others, but when he did, it was almost never her.

Bren leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Astrid’s lips, to reassure her. As he felt some of the tension release from her body, he wondered what he was reassuring her of.

 

There was still conflict in Bren’s head, still stress, and although it had been lightened since they’d gotten back to Trent’s place, he still felt a burden of responsibility. None of that stopped him from falling into a deep sleep the moment his head touched the mercifully soft pillow.

 

He reluctantly awoke to Eodwulf shaking his shoulder around dawn, to give him one of their potions from Trent. The feeling of grinding, broken glass in his throat shocked him fully awake, long before he was ready.

The sun was rising bright, unhindered by mountainous surroundings, and from the open window, Bren could faintly smell pine. There were no pine trees before Trent had moved the house. He felt chilly, in part because he had still yet to change his clothes from the night before except to take off the scraps of fabric wrapped around his feet, so he still didn’t have a shirt on and his pants were hacked into shorts, but it was still infinitely more comfortable than sleeping in the woods.

Looking around the room, Astrid had, like Bren, not moved a muscle since falling asleep. Her fingers were still interlaced over her belly, and her scorched tail lay still, curled on her thigh.

And Eodwulf was kneeling by Bren’s bed, his eyes shadowed and tired, to the point where he looked somehow older. He was watching the empty vial in Bren’s hand, so Bren handed it back.

“Have you slept at all, my friend?” he asked softly, well aware of the answer.

Eodwulf shook his head.  
“I thought of it, but…” He gave a self-conscious sort of half-laugh, which turned into a yawn. “I didn’t want to close my eyes yet… And when I read, I can hear the pages turn."

Bren felt the bead of uncertainty still in his stomach twist again, chilling him.

“Anyway,” Eodwulf went on, heedless, “we still had to take our potions in the morning, so I figured I’d wait for that.”

Eodwulf put the empty vial back into what Bren recognised to be the travel bag he had been using. Eodwulf treated it with care and very little familiarity – while he had been there for the trip, but he hadn’t really touched any of the items they carried. Bren hadn’t been prepared to load his friend up like a pack mule.

“What did Trent-” Bren began awkwardly, but rephrased. “Did you and Trent work out what happened?”

Eodwulf touched his pocket seemingly without thinking, the pocket where he kept his holy symbol. He shook his head.  
“Not exactly.” He frowned thoughtfully. “He just… wanted to make sure I remembered there are other important things. Aside from the Lawbearer.”

He stopped for a long moment – very long. Bren felt quite nonplussed, and looked over Eodwulf. His wounded feet had been seen to, and he’d even replaced his cut up clothes with a tunic and comfortable looking pants.

“And I do remember,” said Eodwulf finally, meeting Bren’s gaze like he really wanted to persuade him of this fact. “I’ve never healed anyone before or since, so it could have been just once, a one time gift – and in any case, I’m not going to be distracted.”

Bren reached forward to hold onto Eodwulf’s shoulder uncertainly.  
“I know you are dedicated to the arcane, and to the Empire, Eodwulf,” he said. “And Trent knows that – surely that is not even a question.”

This seemed to bring some kind of relief.

 

Duty is a lesson of Eodwulf’s. It’s different than a lot of their lessons though, in that Eodwulf first learned it a long time ago, but somehow he learned it wrong. Eodwulf doesn’t talk about his father, who Bren is quite sure he hasn’t seen since he was ten. He doesn’t talk about living with the man; at most he acknowledges that there was a lot of fighting. And Eodwulf is very protective of his mother, and his mother’s wife of the last five years – his true parents.

Eodwulf’s lesson is that dutiful does not mean silent. It does not mean timid. Dutiful does not mean small, or invisible, and it doesn’t always have to hurt. Bren learned from his own father that to fulfil a duty is to be important, and he believes this down to his core.

 

Bren did not want to think right now, least of all about the mountain. He wanted to just lie down as the pain faded from his throat, and go back to sleep.

“How much do you know of what happened?” he asked instead.

Only now did Bren realise he was still wearing the platinum necklace he had taken from Astrid. He reached up to undo it, and put it onto his small bedside table next to the still-burning candle.

“In the woods?” asked Eodwulf. He sat back on his heels next to Bren’s bed, looking discomfited. “Not a lot.”

Bren winced.

“I realised really quickly,” said Eodwulf quietly. “I couldn’t hear you talk, or Astrid talk, or Master Ikithon or the wind or animals or anything – but I also couldn’t hear myself. It was… I couldn’t hear my own breathing,” he went on, the volume of his voice dropping even lower. He sounded haunted. That was the only word for it. “My own heartbeat. I think of poems and prayers in my head sometimes, I hear music, and for the first few days I couldn’t – there was just nothing.”

Shakily, he took a holy symbol out of his pocket. It wasn’t the old iron one, but the one Bren had carved, which unexpectedly brought tears to his eyes. Eodwulf could see and hear now, he had access to his own holy symbol from childhood, but he still held this one with the same reverence as when it was his only lifeline.

Bren bent one of his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around it.

“Is that – do you keep transmuting that to silver?” he asked, trying to swallow the weakness in his voice.

Eodwulf shook his head.  
“It hasn’t turned back since the first time,” he said, looking down at it. He raised it to his lips, and Bren looked away as he barely heard Eodwulf whisper something to the trinket (to his God?) Transmutation between substances like that did not last more than an hour for Eodwulf. Ever.

They sat in silence while Astrid snuffled in her sleep, her tail flicking idly off of her thigh.

“Oh, and I assume there were wolves or something,” Eodwulf said. “I remember that. Astrid turned me in a direction so I could throw acid, and then thunder even though that hurt her – probably both of you; I’m guessing you were nearby. Uh. Sorry for that.”

“It was a bear,” said Bren.

Eodwulf nodded slowly, and cleared his throat.  
“So – after you, when you made me this,” he said holding up the rough, over-sized holy symbol, “I could… hear my thoughts again. I could imagine things. But I couldn’t really tell what was going on.” He shrugged self-consciously. “I could tell when I stepped on something sharp though, and it was good to feel you and Astrid nearby, so I wasn’t too far from the real world, I guess.”

 

Consideration and authority.

 

Bren rubbed one hand over his face, absolutely certain that neither he nor Astrid could have made it through what Eodwulf did and come out of it so clear. Maybe they wouldn’t have made it at all.

“Do you think I made the right calls?” Bren asked.

Eodwulf looked up at him, brow furrowed.  
“Well – it worked, so…”

“I had to send Astrid into an inferno,” Bren whispered softly, glancing over to where she was sleeping. “I locked you in your head, alone, for nine days. Nine days, Eodwulf.”

Eodwulf opened his mouth and shut it again.

“You can speak your mind, it is just me,” Bren told him. He lowered his voice tiredly. “Please do… I have not been able to talk with you in over a week.”

“I was only alone for three days,” said Eodwulf carefully.

“Four.”

“And I… was the best choice,” Eodwulf finished, ignoring the interruption. He ran his tongue over his lips. “But I – I think maybe… You could have gone without your hands in Astrid’s place. Without magic. You would have been better and less hesitant with directing me, and Astrid is good at woodwork. She can mend, and she could have created fire by mundane means… And then she would not have had to enter the inferno.”

Bren’s hands felt numb, and he curled them into fists, the way Astrid’s had been.  
“Oh.”

“But I don’t know what Master Ikithon would have thought,” Eodwulf quickly backtracked. “And we could only have guessed about the fire on the mountain, and I don’t know what else happened when I was – Bren, there’s really no point looking back.”

Bren turned his hands over, imagining he could not open them.

 

Responsibility and culpability.

 

Despite himself, Bren didn’t get out of bed. He just lay down again, wincing as he had to move his battered feet, and this time he bothered to cover himself with a sheet. He lay on his side, watching, as Eodwulf walked on his knees over to Astrid’s bed to wake her up, too. He shook her shoulder warily, clearly trying not to shift her too much. Her normally pale blue-green skin still had a faintly charred look to it, with blotches of pink all over, and red-black marks where it had split open, though most of those wounds had closed.

Astrid opened her eyes dozily, confused to see Eodwulf kneeling next to her.

“I have your potion,” he told her.

Astrid moved slowly, and grimaced with the movement of sitting up. Bren’s hands itched, but he knew there was no way she would accept help right now. Eodwulf opened the bag to take out a potion.

When Bren and Astrid had applied healing ointment to her burns earlier, Astrid had changed into a sheer, sleeveless night dress she would usually wear as one piece of an ensemble, so as to avoid aggravating her skin.

Bren blinked slowly, as sleep quickly approached.

Astrid looked down towards her midsection, to a streak of dried brown-red blood. One of the worst injuries had been just below her sternum, and had still been weeping when they went to bed. She unbuttoned the front of her dress and pulled it aside to look at the injury, and as Eodwulf turned back to her, he almost dropped the potion.  
“Uh – sorry,” he said hastily, looking away.

Bren smiled sleepily with amusement and yawned.

Astrid closed her shirt, blinking with surprise as she covered her chest.  
“Y-yeah, sorry,” she muttered. “I’m not used to… you can see again.”

“… Yeah.” Eodwulf visibly swallowed, his cheeks flaming pink, and hesitated before looking back to her. “Do you want me to-“

“Are you going to heal me with your God’s miracle gift again?” said Astrid – possibly it was sincere, possibly it was meant to be a joke, but either way it didn’t work because her words came across laced with poison.

Eodwulf recoiled a bit further.  
“Uh.”

Astrid opened and shut her mouth, and pressed her free hand over her eyes, swearing under her breath.  
“Sorry, Eodwulf, that was – I’m sorry.”

“Um. I – just thought I could clean your dress if that would help,” he responded hesitantly. “I don’t know if healing is – it might never happen again, and I’m so tired. But I brought more healing salve if you want it?”

He indicated a large jar of the familiar herbal mix, sitting next to the candle on her bedside table. Astrid glanced over with a grim smile, and it looked normal but Bren knew this meant she felt even worse. She started to look over to him, and he closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

“Thank you,” he heard Astrid say. “And – please, yes.”

Bren heard the soft murmur of Eodwulf casting, and the fog of sleep drew in on him. After twenty-three seconds, he heard Eodwulf ask,

“Are you okay?”

Bren opened his eyes again sleepily. Astrid was looking down at an empty potion vial, and held it out to Eodwulf.  
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Just – by comparison, it’s not so…” She rubbed her free hand over her throat, while the other still held her (now clean) night dress shut. “It’s just so quick.”

Bren felt sick with guilt again and closed his eyes, turning his face towards the pillow.

“I don’t know what your lesson is, Astrid, but it sounds like you did something amazing,” he heard Eodwulf say. “The whole assignment, you – you were amazing.”

Astrid gave a laugh.  
“You’re tired,” she responded. “Very tired, go to bed.”

All was quiet for a while, and Bren thought he might be asleep when he heard Astrid speak again.

“Thank you for trusting me, Eodwulf,” she murmured. “Thank you for working with me, and thank you for healing me. You should be very, very proud of all that you have done… I would be.”

“Thank you, Astrid,” Eodwulf responded softly.

 

Bren slept for a further nine hours. When he awoke, both of the others were deeply asleep, and he felt strangely energised. It was like he could feel the magic in his veins.

At this point, it was late afternoon. Although Trent had said he would not be available until the evening, Bren still tried knocking on his office door. There was no reply.

Instead, he gathered together his components, and his spellbook, and he went to the library, idly tracing symbols in the air as inspiration surged. He thought of the inferno, of Trent’s magical fire surging but not growing, searing but not consuming. Bren could imagine a line of fire, stretching out before him, surging to lick at everything in its path before disappearing in a flash.

Bren wrote it into his spellbook. This was his breakthrough.

 

Astrid, too, awoke with a breakthrough in her mind. She learned to create a blade of pure darkness.

Before Trent returned home, both Astrid and Bren had learned spells more powerful than any they had wielded before.

 

Eodwulf didn’t have a breakthrough. But when he awoke in the evening, he closed the last of Astrid’s open wounds with a touch of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For fellow nerds (which I think means everyone), I thought it would be a nice idea to share some mechanical details with you here. Yes I have D&D mechanics for these characters.
> 
> Stats at level 1 (ie. the BEGINNING of this fic)  
> Bren (Lawful Neutral)  
> Strength: 10 Dexterity: 12 Constitution: 14  
> Intelligence: 18 Wisdom: 16 Charisma: 16  
> Cantrips: Firebolt, Friends, Message
> 
> Eodwulf (Lawful Good)  
> Strength: 15 Dexterity: 10 Constitution: 12  
> Intelligence: 16 Wisdom: 8 Charisma: 17  
> Cantrips: Acid Splash, Thunderclap, Prestidigitation
> 
> Astrid (Chaotic Neutral)  
> Strength: 12 Dexterity: 16 Constitution: 14  
> Intelligence: 17 Wisdom: 12 Charisma: 9  
> Cantrips: Poison Spray, Mending, Mage Hand (+Minor Illusion from her school)
> 
> As of the end of last chapter/beginning of this one,  
> Bren is now a level 3 Wizard (School of Evocation)  
> Astrid is now a level 3 Wizard (School of Illusion)  
> and Eodwulf is now a level 2 Wizard (School of Transmutation)/level 1 Paladin
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading. xxxx And thank you so much to the wonderful people who have commented and left kudos. You inspire me, and make me feel loved, and... okay, I have been convinced that there are people out there who like this story. Thank you for making that clear. <3  
> You can also come hang with me on tumblr here!  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ophelialmx


	7. Trent's Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trent supports his students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, the chapter is called 'Trent's Kindness', and I feel like that probably tells you what you need to know warnings-wise.   
> This is a long one, and has some real juicy stuff I have been looking forward to. I'm pretty excited to be posting it. :)
> 
> Heads up, because I hadn't thought to mention it until now:  
> The reason why there are no German language insertions into this story is because it's actually all intended to be be in Zemnian. They are being taught in Zemnian (Trent Ikithon, in canon, speaks with a Zemnian-esque accent), and that is what they are speaking unless otherwise stated. So yeah, it never occurred to me to tell you. And yes, it is difficult trying to write Caleb/Bren without the word 'ja'.
> 
> Also please be aware that this chapter is helping with earning that graphic violence tag.

Back when he was attending the main Soltryce Academy, Bren did write home to his parents, but he did so sporadically. He would write to them about new spells he had recently witnessed or learned, tell them when he made accomplishments, and tell them about different interesting students and teachers he had met. By the end of that first year, his writing home had dwindled. He was distracted, after all, and he knew it would not be long before he saw his parents anyway. He could tell them his new magic in person. In person, he could show them.

This changed when Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid, moved to Trent’s house to study. From his second year on, Bren has been writing to his parents at least once a month, every month, largely influenced by Trent himself. Trent encourages his three special students to keep in touch with their families, to maintain and reinforce those connections to their loved ones and to their roots, especially since the experimental potions and ongoing assignments mean they aren’t physically visiting home. The safety and security of everyday people is the reason Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid are studying so hard in the first place. The Empire must be strong for families like theirs, and for communities like they had in Blumental.

Besides all that, Trent also thinks it’s important for them to remember where they came from. As they grow in power, and later prominence, he doesn’t want them to forget their humble beginnings. He says this is an important part of them. He tells Bren they should all be proud to have come so far, proud that are becoming so much more.

Trent slightly exaggerates how humble their beginnings actually were, actually. Just a bit.

He’s right that nobody else in Blumental is about to gain the kind of power Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid are learning to wield, and Bren knows that without truly powerful mages, the rest of Wildemount would be sitting ducks for the beasts and vicious savages that roam the wastes.

And sure, Bren’s father is just a foot soldier, and his mother has not used or developed her own magic much at all. Sure, Eodwulf’s father is a dog, and his mother and Fellière are really just farmers …

But while Leofrid Ermendrud may be humble, he is still Righteous Brand, while Una Ermendrud is not powerful, she is still gifted, and while Anja and Fellière may grow corn, they are both remarkably strong people as far as Bren can tell. And more than that, all of them, and Astrid’s family too, are extremely faithful to the Empire. They do everything that they can to support it – which includes ensuring that their children are given every possible opportunity to be great. That should count for something, Bren thinks.

Trent is supportive, and to his credit, he does respect the fact that Bren is proud of his parents, and his home town. Bren just hopes that one day his teacher will be able to understand _why_.

Either way, Bren is always proud when he writes to his parents. He is a good student, and he exceeds all expectations.

 

When they met the evening after the mountain, Trent’s sole focus seemed to be on his students’ recovery. He insisted that Bren sit, because of course his feet were not entirely healed yet, and asked whether Astrid had gotten enough relief from her burns. The reminder made Bren’s insides twist again with guilt – but between the healing salve and Eodwulf’s new gift, Astrid was recovering very quickly indeed.

Bren found himself running over in his head what he would say when Trent asked about the nine that days he and his classmates had been separated from their teacher, but the question did not come. Once Trent seemed satisfied that Bren, Astrid, and Eodwulf were alright, he just told Bren they should all take some time to relax and do something fun. He had not, it seemed, been kidding when he said he’d expected the assignment to take longer.

Trent was busy. He had other things to focus on. He wanted his students to recuperate.

 

“So go on now, your time is your own,” Trent told Bren that night in his office. “Relax.”

He was seated behind the desk, as usual, and Bren to the side of it. Bren was finally wearing a different set of clothes – not his uniform, but formal enough. It was a relief to be clean shaven and wear shoes again.

Trent began to turn in his chair towards the desk to go back to his work, and Bren found himself irrationally irritated. He had tried to steer the conversation towards their assignment multiple times, but Trent had barely commented. By this point it was well past sundown and Trent was still working, so why did Bren have to ‘relax’?

“We at least succeeded, yes?” Bren finally asked directly, frustrated. “We performed well enough?”

Trent paused, and looked at him with a slight frown.  
“Of course.”

There was a moment of quiet. Trent leaned back a bit on his chair and wove his fingers together in his lap, looking over Bren curiously.

“You finished a difficult task in a protracted time, Bren. You should be proud. I am proud of you.”

That did help. A bit.  
“But we succeeded because of a miracle… Eodwulf used healing magic.”

Trent cocked his head to the side.  
“And you disapprove?”

“No,” said Bren immediately. “That is not the issue.”

“Well, there you go,” said Trent.

Bren crossed his arms, trying not to look petulant.  
“We should not have needed that, should we? What if-”

He struggled for words, feeling the low thrum of a headache blooming as he tried to reconcile bleeding feet, shredded clothes, seared, splitting skin, and a desperate grasp at the divine with ‘success’. Trent waited patiently.

“Was it supposed to go this way?” Bren asked finally.

Trent gave a sympathetic smile, and it was slightly maddening.  
“There is no ‘supposed to’, Bren,” he said gently. “There never is with you. You are not my Academy students. I do not set you challenges because there is one right answer; I set them because I know you will not accept failure.”

Bren rubbed his hands over his knees with discomfort.  
“Should I?”

“You are making yourself stronger, and your classmates stronger,” Trent responded in lieu of an answer. “You can see how much of an achievement that is, yes? That’s the point of all of this.”

Bren knew his teacher was probably right. He thought about when Trent had asked if he was afraid of pain. If she was asked the same question, what would Astrid say now?

Still though.

“We were barely strong enough,” he said. “Barely. And surely we cannot rely on this; even you can’t heal with your hands, Trent, can you? I don’t know how it works, I can’t make it happen again.”

Trent gave a long sigh.  
“You are quite insistent upon having this conversation,” he said mildly. “It is a blessing and a curse to have a student who presents me with such challenges.”

Despite his words, it was clear that Trent was conceding. He offhandedly pulled over an item from the other side of his desk, which Bren had not noticed before. A set of scales, roughly ten inches tall, and made of what appeared to be bronze. It looked like the Lawbearer’s scales, but there was probably some arcane significance too. Bren tended to assume every knick-knack in Trent’s room was magical in some way.

He wasn’t trying to do anything with it – just idly fiddling. Trent didn’t let Eodwulf or Astrid see him do anything without purpose, but ever since they were in the Academy, Bren has been allowed a glimpse into his teacher's true thoughts, to see him when his guard was lowered.

“I must admit, I have not had a divinely gifted student before,” Trent said, half to himself. “Erathis is one of the great Gods of the Empire, of course, but…”

“We are not training to do the work of Gods?” Bren finished uncertainly. “We’re not supposed to be, in any case.”

“Quite.”

“You can’t teach that.”

Trent glanced over at him, eyes narrowed, but there was no serious anger there.  
“I have no desire to teach that.”

“Eodwulf has not had an arcane breakthrough,” Bren added quietly.

Trent seemed to sense his nerves.  
“Try to calm down, Bren,” he said gently. “We do not necessarily need to make too much of that. Time will tell. In any case, the Lawbearer stealing some of his attention is far from Eodwulf’s greatest defect.”

With care, Trent pressed down on one side of the bronze scales. They barely tilted, which he seemed to find amusing. He murmured an arcane word, and Bren could see Trent’s magic flicker over the item – doing what, he wasn’t sure. Possibly nothing, because the scales still did not budge. Trent didn’t appear concerned, and went on:

“Besides, the Gods do serve a great purpose, even if we look beyond their divine works. Gods can be tremendous driving forces and sources of strength for those who can only follow. And let us be honest here,” he added conspiratorially. “Most can only follow.”

Bren was frowning, trying to absorb this. His first instinct was to argue, but Trent hadn’t exactly given him anything clear to argue against. He was just speaking his mind.

“What about me?” Bren asked instead. “What about Astrid?”

Trent chuckled.  
“I doubt that girl has conjured a single original thought in her life.”

Bren felt his eyebrows raise, and he stared wordlessly. When the silence had dragged on for a bit, Trent back looked up at him from the scales, mildly surprised.

“Would you demand that Eodwulf or Astrid do more than follow?” he asked. “Astrid has not yet mastered even that.”

Bren shrugged defensively.  
“I don’t know. One day?”

Trent pushed the scales back across the desk, like their closeness would just make him want to fidget more. Bren was about to ask about them, when his teacher spoke again.

“For now, my considerations are twofold with regards to Eodwulf,” Trent said. “One: will he refocus his energy upon what he is supposed to be learning-?”

“Most certainly,” Bren interrupted. Trent’s eyes brightened with amusement.

“- And that is a question,” he went on, “that I would very much like your opinion on.”

“Definitely yes,” Bren insisted. “He’ll focus.”

“Good. It seems we are of the same mind.”

Bren felt surprisingly relieved.   
“We know – we all know this is the greatest way we can help the Empire,” he said. “The most efficient. Eodwulf knows that; this is what he wants, I can vouch for it.”

“And two: are you prepared and ready to manage this kind of resource?” Trent went on, a fond, familiar, challenging kind of twinkle in his eye. “There are other paths the more divinely inspired may take to be of use to the Empire after all, Bren. One day you will not be a classmate; you will be a commander. It takes a whole new set of skills and finesse to manage a Holy Warrior in your ranks.”

The way Trent said ‘Holy Warrior’ was curious, like he didn’t know whether he found it exciting or distasteful.

“You don’t want to one day discover you are attempting to compete with a God,” he added.

When Bren didn’t answer straight away, Trent chuckled.

“But I am painting wild pictures,” he said. “Do not take me too literally; let’s not get carried away.”

“I can do it,” said Bren with determination. “I can learn.”

Trent leaned forward in his chair to grasp his student’s shoulder.  
“I know you will,” he said warmly, careful to meet Bren’s eye. “I may be cautious, but I do not doubt you for a moment. You understand that, yes?”

Bren nodded. Somewhere inside of him, a painful pressure began to ease. If he worked at it, he knew he could learn anything.

 

Even now when he writes to them, Bren likes to reassure his parents that this is all worth it. He promises their pride and faith in him are well placed, that he has the arcane accomplishments to prove it, and there will be more. It’s well worth the separation from them. It is worth the time and work they spent trying to gather the coin to send him to school in the first place, even if this had not, in the end, been necessary.

His mother says in all of her letters that she misses him, and there is an understanding that Una speaks for herself and her husband. It makes Bren ache sometimes. It helps, though, having Trent as a teacher, because he ensures every letter gets to Blumental almost immediately, and he travels so much that he brings letters back in return almost as quickly. Besides, the three of them will be graduating earlier than the students at the main school; it won’t be too long before they can go home whenever they like.

It’s so close – Bren knows it. Trent hasn’t put a hard timeline on things (a lot depends on when they can reach their own milestones, after all), but Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid are capable of and have achieved things that other students at Soltryce Academy can only imagine, and probably could not handle. Every assignment gets more challenging, but are becoming so, so very strong.

 

The day after Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid returned from the mountain, Trent greeted his students at breakfast. The magically summoned (possibly conjured? But no, it had to be cooked somewhere…) food was incredible after plain root vegetables, occasional wild fruit, and questionable mountain bird eggs. Trent said he needed to leave, that he’d made a schedule assuming their assignment would take longer, and he was needed elsewhere.

Astrid asked what they should focus on in his absence. Trent said to finish healing, and relax.

Bren asked whether they were still in Rexxentrum.

Trent arched an eyebrow mildly, and said that they had been transported South and a little further West, towards the mineral-rich mud flats by the Eastern banks of the Erdeloch.

“But,” he said with an air of humour, “I give you my word, Bren, that there will be no days-long traversing of the mud flats. No missions into the great lake. You are welcome to explore, of course, but I assure you that I have no further interest in sending you out into the wilderness. For now, I just want you to recuperate.”

Bren was pretty sure Trent was telling the truth, but as soon as his teacher left, he still sifted through the library for any and all information on the Erdeloch.

 

Trent didn’t come back for three days.

Even then, he only stayed long enough to check in, ensure his students were healthy, and reassure them that they were not running behind schedule; they just needed to continue taking potions twice every day, and they would resume lessons soon. It was strange. The others didn’t notice it so much, but to Bren, their teacher seemed slightly worn. Stressed. Weirdly, he looked like he hadn’t slept well, his skin having taken on a slightly sickly pallor, and his eyes darkened just a bit.

Bren tried to talk to Trent alone, to see if he was okay, but he only remained at the homestead for seventeen minutes.

 

Trent is careful with his lessons. As much as possible, he allows his students to learn and discover for themselves, and they are better for it. It carries a higher risk, especially where magic is involved, but that is negligible considering how much more effectively Trent’s students are able to learn. They have to think on their feet, they have to truly understand, and the knowledge sticks with them in a way that a lecture or step by step instruction would not.

Even at the Academy, when Trent instructs, he spends a lot of his time asking questions and giving demonstrations, and it is understood that if any of his students can not follow, they lack either the intelligence or foresight to prepare, and they probably should not have been accepted into Soltryce Academy to begin with.

The annoying thing is that, as Bren has learned, it is sometimes hard to know when Trent is teaching, and what the lesson is.

 

Trent spent almost two weeks practically absent, his students left to their own devices. He had of course ensured that they would have everything they needed, from the food and water (which appeared magically anyway, apparently on its own schedule), to the expanded selection of books, to the magical music box that played strange but entrancing orchestral melodies on demand. He gave them no assignments, no tasks to complete. His focus honestly seemed to be entirely elsewhere, which was more than bizarre – it was unheard of. No project, no lesson at the Academy, no work for the Cerberus Assembly, had ever interested Trent as much as his chosen students, and Bren didn’t know what to make of it.

Still, he didn’t want to directly go against Trent’s word, and his advice.

Bren play-fought with Eodwulf and Astrid, swinging sticks like swords, and was repeatedly put to shame for his lack of athleticism and finesse. He read books that were just stories. He sang a bit, actually. Eodwulf liked to sing, even more so since the Lawbearer, and it was fun to sing along.

When they grew tired of the house, they explored the mud flats, too. In the back of his head, Bren hoped they would find some kind of violent creature, so he could use his new magic and flex his arcane abilities. Astrid clearly hoped for the same. The worst they found was a particularly large and aggressive mud crab, but that was okay. Of course, Bren realised, they should have known that Trent would not have left them somewhere truly dangerous if he was going to be busy elsewhere.

But he also worked on his studies – of course he did. He covered reams of paper with symbols and words, trying to build upon his breakthrough on his own. He worked on his Sylvan. Bren had a weird thought, too, inspired by the endless planes of mud outside and the tiny insects and crustaceans that would emerge from it. There had to be a way to make the earth itself rise up and capture something. Maybe it could drag a quarry down into it somehow? He didn’t know; that was what research was for.

Eodwulf and especially Astrid expressed concerns that Bren was so determined to study given how Trent had told them to spend their time. Trent wasn’t expecting anything of them, after all. Bren had little patience for that though.

One night, Eodwulf and Astrid drank all of the wine, and he could hear the music from downstairs. He knew he would join them eventually, but he had to at least try to study. They might be happy with adequacy – maybe that was for the best, actually. Bren knew he could do better, and he would for Trent, for his family, and for the Empire.

 

Bren, Eodwulf, and Astrid had been living in Trent’s homestead for almost sixteen months the first time he summoned them in the pre-dawn hours. They had spent the previous night playing cards and brushing up on their Celestial, and gotten to bed at the respectable time of ten minutes to ten.

Bren woke to the sound of Trent’s voice in his head, not loud per se, but piercing.

“ _Downstairs, immediately, silently, my office_ ,” it said, and Bren jumped, his eyes snapping open even as the candles that illuminated the room he shared with Eodwulf and Astrid flared to life. It wasn’t pitch blackness aside from them; the sun was be teasing the horizon by this point, in fact, at seven minutes to five in the morning, but it was still earlier than Bren would usually have risen.

As he sat bolt upright, he glanced about. Astrid already had a dagger in her hand, her eyes wild and hair sleep-mussed as she leapt to her feet. Instead of her old dagger, she now carried the one Trent had given them to navigate the woodlands. Bren didn’t like to see it, but it clearly meant something to her, and Trent hadn’t asked for it back. Eodwulf was covering his eyes with one hand, and Bren watched as he pushed himself to sitting, wrinkling his nose. The candles dimmed to a regular level, but remained alight.

“What-“ Eodwulf begun to whisper, but Bren interrupted, forcing the sleep-fog from his mind.

“Trent said ‘immediately’,” he hissed as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Bren glanced automatically over towards the thin lockers where their clothes were stored, but didn’t go there. Trent had definitely said ‘immediately’.

“Take point,” Bren whispered, looking to Astrid. She nodded, and kept her dagger in hand as she tip-toed nimbly to the doorway.

It was bizarre, honestly. Astrid was creeping ahead in a combat-ready stance, her free hand tracing the wall silently, ready to throw a spell – and yet, she was wearing her thin, cotton night dress with no sleeves, and soft, admittedly enticing (but not now, of course not now) pyjama pants. Bren had on his own checkered pyjamas, short sleeved and coloured green and grey, while Eodwulf, had nothing covering his bare, muscular chest, and was re-tying the drawstring on his baggy sleep pants to make sure they at least stayed in place.

When she reached the top of the stairs, Astrid glanced back at Bren and Eodwulf, her tail curling up against the wall behind her as she raised her dagger to her lips in a ‘hush’ motion. Bren paused, listening as intently as he could, and Eodwulf rubbed his bleary eyes.

“… but I do appreciate your help, I know it is a most unsociable hour,” an unfamiliar voice was saying – deep, and the gender was indistinct. It was speaking in Common, with a mixed kind of accident Bren could not quite place. A traveller maybe? Bren heard Trent respond, but he was simply too quiet to comprehend for now.

Astrid tip-toed forward until she had crept most of the way down the stairs, one careful step at a time, and Bren and Eodwulf hung back about halfway down, trying (and, honestly, failing) to match her deftness of foot.

“Sadly, my wife is poorly,” Trent was saying. His voice was louder now, as if moving closer, and Bren could hear his footsteps on the wooden floor. “My nephew may be able to – I think I mentioned we have family visiting?”

“You did, you did,” the other voice responded. “Please do not wake anyone on our accounts though, Mister Kurgarten, if you are not sure…”

“Oh nonsense, the sun is nearly up. Just one moment.”

The bottom of the stairway in Trent’s homestead led to a hallway; you had to turn either left or right. To the left, the hallway opened up to the modest kitchen, and dining room that doubled as an entry to the house. To the right, the hallway led a bit further down. The first door led to Trent’s office, then a large broom closet, followed by the bathroom and finally the library. The voices were certainly coming from the left, likely the dining room and entryway, which made sense.

Astrid was careful to lay low. She pressed herself against the wall, and looked around the corner towards the kitchen.

She froze and turned back immediately, and Bren instinctively raised a hand to cast a spell, his breath catching in his throat. It was only Trent though, walking casually away from the kitchen and out of sight into the hallway. He gave Astrid at the base of the stairs, and then Bren and Eodwulf halfway up, a very brief look before continuing, out of sight. Bren heard the familiar, shrill creaking sound of Trent opening the door to his office.

Astrid held the dagger to her side and peeked around the corner again, before waving towards Bren and Eodwulf to descend the stairs past her and follow after Trent. Bren nodded. He snuck as quietly as he could, followed by Eodwulf, down the stairs, and caught only a glimpse of the kitchen before heading towards Trent. One human looking figure stood, facing directly away from them to look curiously at a small pile of books on the side board. That one had long, dark brown hair and wore a simple blue shirt and loose pants. The other was strawberry blonde, also angled away from them to watch the first, and had on a long, cream-coloured dress.

“He seems nice,” the second one, the blonde one, was saying. Her voice was a little higher and more nasal, and she walked towards her companion. That was all Bren saw before darting away, bare feet almost silent against the wooden floor. He could feel Eodwulf behind him, a little slower but thankfully quiet. They both darted into Trent’s office.

Trent was in dark grey robes. His long hair was braided, neat but loose, and hung behind his back. It was not his usual attire, and Bren looked at him questioningly – but Trent waited until Astrid had snuck into the room before speaking.

“I had hoped to ease you into this,” he whispered.

“Assembly business?” asked Bren, as softly as he could.

Trent hesitated, glancing over the three of them. He looked tired, which Bren found discomfiting, but seemed to be otherwise in good health. He had a small, canvas bag strapped over one shoulder.

“There is a cult,” Trent whispered. “Operating out of one of the small mining villages near to here. That is where I found those two.”

Eodwulf stepped backward towards the door. He leaned to the side very slowly, so his bare shoulder brushed the door fame, and peeked out towards the kitchen. One arm, he had wrapped around his pale midsection, and the other he kept in his pocket. Bren eyed Eodwulf warily; he couldn’t place the odd grimace on his face.

“I suspect none of that community are truly ‘innocent’,” Trent whispered darkly. “The town clearly will need to start again.”

Bren frowned back at him.  
“What can you – what does that mean?”

Trent didn’t answer.  
“One of these ladies is the local doctor of sorts,” he whispered instead. “She is the only member of the town who has seen fit to report to the Crownsguard that children have been going missing.”

Bren and Astrid looked at each other with surprise, and Astrid winced. That was a bad sign, but they didn’t really know of what.

“This,” Trent pushed, stepping closer to emphasise but not raising his voice at all. “This is more than you have dealt with previously, but it is an opportunity for you to-“

“They are both fiends,” Eodwulf said, quietly but not in quite a whisper.

Trent turned to him sharply.  
“What? Hush.”

Eodwulf pulled back from the door, and visibly swallowed as he noticed the other three looking at him incredulously. From inside his pocket, Bren could see a hint of a soft white glow, from the still-silver Holy Symbol of the Lawbearer. It faded.  
“Master Ikithon, they are fiends,” Eodwulf whispered. “I swear to you.”

“Even the one who reported the-” Bren started.

“Bren, I swear to you they are not human,” Eodwulf whispered insistently.

“What a gift,” Trent breathed coolly, and so softly it was almost imperceptible.

“Is everything alright, Mister Kurgarten?” called one of the voices, the lower one that belonged to the dark-haired human who was apparently not human.

Trent frowned thoughtfully, for a moment.  
“Fiends,” he repeated under his breath bitterly. “Just cut them down, when you think the time is right,” Trent whispered to Bren.

His expression brightened. Bren hadn’t seen Trent put on a friendly public demeanour for a long time, and it was really quite uncomfortable by this point. Even around Eodwulf and Astrid he shared a more authentic version of himself than that.

“See, now didn’t I tell you?” Trent called out, as he exited the room. “Of course Jorg is awake, what self-respecting mining family would be beaten by the sun? Come out here, Jorg, these ladies need our help.”

“Well, quick,” Astrid hissed, glancing between Eodwulf and Bren. “Go on, I guess?” She gestured towards the door.

Bren had only a moment to think, and Eodwulf looked at him expectantly. The office was still the same as usual, but Bren recognised a small tray on their teacher’s desk which was sometimes there and sometimes not. Feathers and scales, and two curled pieces of leather, sat in a line, and he hoped very much Trent had left them there on purpose as he grabbed a red scale and jammed it into his shirt pocket.

"Just - when it starts, help me," Bren whispered.

He glanced between Eodwulf and Astrid, but there was no time. He swore under his breath and ducked out of the room to follow Trent to the kitchen.

“Ah, Jorg,” said Trent in that eerily chirpy tone. “These are my new neighbours, Sabine and – I am so sorry my dear, I what was your name again?”

Sabine, the dark-haired lady, was an absolutely stunning human woman (not human though, not human) probably in her thirties, and the blonde one (again, a fiend, not human) seemed a little younger, not so distractingly attractive, but still quite remarkable. She looked momentarily suspicious, but seemed reassured by Bren’s emergence. He did not look like much of a threat, he figured, being a sixteen year-old in his pyjamas.

“Eppina,” she said kindly, and gave a tired, but sincere looking smile. “Hello, Jorg. Your uncle says you may be able to help – we are trying to find my son…”

 

Bren didn’t know how Trent had managed it exactly, but it soon became very clear that both ‘Sabine’ and ‘Eppina’ were under the impression they were very close to the town where they lived. They said they were looking for ‘Eppina’s’ son, who had not come home from his friend’s house the previous day. They said he was thirteen year-old boy with blond hair and a scrape on his left elbow, and Bren pretended to wrack his brains for any recollection of this person. He wondered if the boy was real, and if he was really missing.

Eventually, Bren apologised and said he could not think of anything, and ‘Sabine’ asked if he would come to aid in the search. She asked Trent, his ‘uncle’, if that would be okay, and to Bren’s surprise, Trent agreed. He encouraged him to go, in fact, and while the lie was simple – it was just telling a story, really – it was still extremely strange. Did Trent pretend to be somebody else frequently?

In any case, Bren had to think about this later, because he was fairly certain that neither of them could be permitted to leave the homestead.

“Come on,” ‘Sabine’ said, tucking a lock of lush brown hair behind her ear and walking back towards the door. “I’m sure he has just gotten a bit lost. You can come and meet some more of your uncle’s neighbours.”

Bren nodded blankly.  
“Yes, okay,” he said. “I do not mind helping.”

‘Eppina’ gave her tired smile again, and ‘Sabine’ turned and began to to open the door.

 

Bren conjured a line of fire through both of them.

 

The flash of light brightly illuminated the whole room for a few moments, and the door banged open to hit the wall with a crack as, already charred, it split down the middle.

Immediately, Astrid ran in from the hallway, the dagger in one hand and her new magical blade in the other. The deep, shadowy black of the psychic weapon made it hard to clearly make out, especially as the light of Bren’s fire dimmed. Astrid leapt forward past him, and plunged it into ‘Eppina’s’ side. With illusions in place, neither of the women (not humans though, fiends) looked wounded by the fire or weapon, but the howls of pain and surprise were very real indeed.

Eodwulf ran in with inhuman speed, and slammed the battered front door shut, to close off the exit. Meanwhile, a swarm of magical motes began to circle around Trent’s hands, in a range of colours that threw lights spiralling around the room. Their teacher didn’t release any spell – in fact he wouldn’t for the entirety of the confrontation. He was doing something though, Bren was sure of it, because whenever one of the fiends tried to use their own magic, the effects simply did not take hold. Astrid and Bren both managed to get some extra hits in before the fiends gave up on casting spells and seemed to decide that ripping them to pieces was the better option.

Although hidden by illusory magic, it became clear very quickly that they both had deadly claws, and fangs.

‘Eppina’ gave a shout of rage, and buried her claws into Astrid’s gut, of course tearing straight through her night dress like paper. ‘Sabine’ ripped into Eodwulf’s shoulder with hidden fangs. Astrid managed to dodge some of the blows though, and magic rippled as her magical shield deflected another. Eodwulf was having no such luck, and barely managed to evade a killing blow to the throat – but ‘Sabine’ still managed to slice into his shoulder.

“Hey!” Bren shouted dumbly, and threw another line of blistering flame, this time only targeting her.

She screamed, and the illusion fell. She – ‘Sabine’? – was… she was definitely a fiend. The creature’s teeth were stained with blood, and she was clad in light, protective leather. She had wings neatly folded behind her back, but they began to unfurl as she snarled at Bren, her attention redirected towards him.

This, Bren realised, was a cambion, and if Trent wasn’t doing whatever he was doing to suppress the fiends’ magic, he, Eodwulf, and Astrid, might already be dead. Madly, through the fog of adrenaline, determination, and horror at the violence being inflicted upon his friends, Bren wondered if he could learn to snuff out spells too.

The red cambion’s eyes were pitch black, and her horns razor sharp. She gnashed her teeth, now going for his throat as she had with Eodwulf’s, and Bren had just brought his arms up to try and shield himself, when she faltered. Stumbled. Bren blinked, and look down to see the black void of Astrid’s blade appear, jutting out from the cambion’s chest, splitting through the soft armour, and through rough, leathery skin. The blade yanked upwards, cutting up through the fiend’s chest, and she reached for the wound in surprise and shock.

Over the red cambion’s shoulder, Bren could see the other one, still in disguise as a tired young mother. One of her legs was twisted, but whatever other wounds she had sustained were hidden within the illusion. She furiously gouged her claws into Eodwulf’s chest. Eodwulf gave a stuttered shriek, staggering backwards and drawing familiar arcane symbols in the air.

The front door to Trent’s homestead, already charred black and cracked, ripped off its hinges to smash hard against the second fiend - ‘Eppina’. She gave a definitely inhuman roar and stumbled to the side, her claws ripped from Eodwulf’s torso as her illusion fell away.

This one, though she was clearly also a cambion, didn’t look quite so devilish. Her eyes were strangely human, in fact. Her skin was a soft shade of orange, and her wings looked malformed somehow – it was hard to imagine her actually using them to fly. Still, her razor sharp claws were red with far too much of Astrid and Eodwulf’s blood, and it had splattered against her leathery skin and what looked like makeshift, now badly burned, animal hide armour.

Bren shoved the dying first cambion out of the way and tried to throw a flaming bolt at the second, but she ducked down at the last minute, scrambling across the floor towards the open front doorway. Her malformed wings were blackened and burned, and she grunted as Eodwulf grabbed one of them to try and keep her from escaping out into the very early morn.

Astrid gave a determined, wordless shout, wrenching her magical blade from the red cambion’s chest to throw it at the fleeing orange one. It found its mark as, with a sickly crack, it drove straight in through the back of the fiend’s neck.

The orange cambion stumbled, and Eodwulf let go of his grip on her wing to let her fall, dead, to the ground. Her eyes were open, and in the fall, one of her bloodied fangs had broken on the floor.

Bren swallowed. He felt again like he was flying or sinking, like his veins were alive with sickly electricity, and he shakily wiped his face with the back of one hand and realised there were tears on his cheeks.

Astrid clutched one hand over the deep wound to her gut, and stepped over to the pale orange creature warily. It wasn’t moving. She looked down at it, her expression unreadably blank as the ends of her pyjama pants picked up smudges of red from the floor.

Eodwulf was watching her too, but he coughed, and it sounded wet. His whole torso was red by this point, oozing so much blood that it was streaking down over his waist, to soak into the hem of his pants. Eodwulf reached for the wall, vaguely, and left a bloody hand print when he found it, before sliding down to sit on the floor.

He coughed again, and a rivulet of blood dribbled down from the side of his mouth.

Bren swore under his breath, and crossed his arms to stop his hands from shaking. He looked at Trent, whose jaw was locked grimly. The teacher drew some symbols in the air, and his hand began to glow. For a moment, he held it with the palm facing the floor, and then after a few moments of muttering arcane words, he turned it over, to reveal two potions. One that looked regular, and the other… something more. He held them out to Bren.

“See to your classmates,” he said quietly. “I am going to move the house.”

Bren heard a sickly splat and looked over to see Eodwulf spitting out blood onto the floor, his eyes clearly not focussing properly. Eodwulf held his now-reddened holy symbol in both trembling hands and pressed them against his forehead. Bren was sure he could hear his friend singing, weakly, under his breath.

“Trent,” said Bren unsteadily, “when you are at work, is this…?”

He gestured faintly towards the scene, the dead figures, the burnt room, the blood, and his fingers felt numb.

Astrid had knelt down by the dead, pale orange cambion, silent and still holding one arm over her bleeding gut. She touched the killing wound she had landed to the back of the fiend’s neck with her eggshell blue-green fingers, then traced them up to touch the small, sharp orange horns. Her fingertips left a trail of red.

“The child they were looking for is very real,” said Trent in lieu of an answer.

He took Bren’s shoulder in his free hand, and bodily turned him so they were facing each other. Trent looked between his student’s eyes warily, as if trying to read every detail, any hint his expression might give away of his inner thoughts.

“His name was Gordon, and I am afraid… I have to imagine that he is very much dead,” Trent said on quietly. “If this was not truly his mother… perhaps she too, is gone, but I will stop it. This carnage has no place in the Empire.”

“We will stop it,” said Bren under his breath. He would have gone on, but then Eodwulf coughed again, and spat more blood onto the floor even as the tiny dose of healing magic he could manage for himself was fading from his hands. As Bren watched, he looked up, wiping his mouth against the back of his pale arm and leaving a red streak behind. Eodwulf blinked once, twice. Trying to see clearly. Did he know he was crying too?

Trent pulled at Bren’s wrist to uncross his arms, and pressed the two healing potions firmly into his hand.

“See to your classmates, Bren,” he said, more forcefully this time. "And I will move the house. Yes?"

Bren swallowed.  
"Yes, okay."

Trent nodded, apparently partially for his own benefit, and turned to stride purposefully towards the exit. He stepped neatly over the dead orange cambion, and Astrid shifted out of the way but didn’t look up.

Trent paused for a moment, and leaned down to touch her upper back.   
“You have done well, Astrid,” he told her softly. “This thing was here to hunt people you care for. Cry if you must, but be proud that you were its executioner. We are all safe now.”

 

Trent’s voice was kind in a way he usually reserved for Bren.

Astrid shook, just a bit, but she nodded, sniffling. Bren’s heart felt warmed.

**Author's Note:**

> Spells used for the curious:  
> Bren's level 2 - Aganazzar's Scorcher  
> Astrid's level 2 - Shadow Blade
> 
> Ikithon uses Counterspell and (Greater) Portent (among other things)  
> and Eodwulf uses Expeditious Retreat and Catapult (and Paladin abilities Lay on Hands and Divine Sense)


End file.
